Lily's Lost Boys
by chrmisha
Summary: SEQUEL to "Lily's Last Wish." Harry is kidnapped and tortured, and Snape is left to try and pick up the pieces and prepare Harry for the final battle. This is the third story in the series. I do not own Harry Potter or make any money from these stories.
1. Chapter 1

A/N 1: This is a sequel to "The Last Will and Testament of Lily Evans" and "Lily's Last Wish." It is the third story in the series. I hope you enjoy it!

A/N 2: This is a MUCH darker story than the first two. If you like light stories, stick to the first two. My stories, of course, always have a happy ending, but there's a lot more emotional trauma in this.

A/N 3: Takes place beginning of 6th year. Snape is still teaching Potions (not Slughorn). Horcruxes likely don't exist.

A/N 4: Thanks to "badgerlady" for the awesome beta!

* * *

CHAPTER 1:

After a summer spent with Professor Snape, and the new understanding that had developed between them, Harry was unpleasantly surprised to find Potions the same nightmare it had always been. Even though Snape had expressly warned him that he could treat Harry no differently in front of the children of Death Eaters, Harry still harbored a tiny hope that Snape would be less cruel to him than he'd been in the past. After all, hadn't things changed between them over the summer?

Yet, after a particularly trying lesson where Harry had actually brewed an acceptable potion, Snape had berated it—and Harry—as utterly worthless. Snape then proceeded to banish Harry's potion, much to Harry's chagrin. Harry set his head on the desk and refused to move. Betrayal warred with anger which warred with a part of himself that was trying to reason that this was all just an act. But dammit all to hell if it didn't feel real and hurtful.

When the bell finally rang, Harry raised himself off the desk and began gathering his belongings.

Snape's harsh, angry voice rang through the air: "Potter, see me after class."

Sighing, Harry slumped back onto his stool and dropped his head onto the table once more. _Fan-fucking-tastic_ , he thought.

As the students filed out, Snape snapped, "Potter, in my office, NOW."

Harry dragged himself to his feet and entered Snape's office through the back classroom door that connected the two.

He didn't look up when Snape slammed the door, or when Snape warded it and put a silencing charm up.

"Care to explain yourself, Potter?" Snape queried, his voice still sounding angry.

Harry looked up to see Snape leaning against his desk, arms and ankles crossed, his eyes radiating anger and impatience.

"ME?" Harry demanded, outraged. "I am not the one who was being a complete bast…"

"Watch yourself, Potter," Snape commanded, his eyes flashing.

"My potion was FINE!" Harry shouted. "It wasn't perfect, but it was as good as or better than a lot of the other potions in class and on one else had their potion banished!" Harry slammed his book bag onto a chair. "I am not the best student in the class, but I am certainly not the worst. And YOU," Harry emphasized, pointing a finger at the man, "you always…" Harry swallowed, feeling angry tears clog his throat. "Fuck," he muttered, and spun away.

"Potter," Snape snapped. "You will cease this behavior at once!"

Harry kicked out at a chair, cursing as the action did nothing to relieve his irritation but made his foot throb. Still not looking at Snape, he breathed, "Why are you doing this? I thought…"

"You thought what, Potter?" Snape said, his voice derisive.

"I thought things had changed between us," Harry said, angrily swiping a tear from his face.

There was silence for a long time as Snape studied him. And then Snape sighed. "Sit down, Potter."

Harry sat.

Snape took the seat behind his desk. "We've had this discussion at least twice before, Potter. Before the term began."

"I know," Potter said, "I just thought… I didn't expect… I didn't know it would be so hard." Harry let out a breath and starred at the floor. In a much smaller voice, he added, "I didn't think it would hurt so much."

When Harry looked up, Snape's gaze was shuttered.

"How can you do it?" Harry asked. "How can you walk around exuding hatred for everyone around you, and yet…"

"Feel something different inside?"

"Yeah," Harry said, ducking his head.

"I've had lots of practice," Snape replied. "And there's a lot more at stake here than your fragile feelings, Potter. Your life, for one. And mine, for another."

Harry's head snapped up. Snape didn't look so angry anymore. He looked more exasperated than anything. Harry let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. "You're right, sir. I'm sorry. I'm just feeling overemotional at the moment, I guess. I'm sorry."

"No apology needed," Snape said, getting to his feet. "But do us both a favor, Potter, and please try and remember that we both have a role to play. This isn't a game we can afford to lose."

"Yes, sir. I'll do better at remembering."

"I doubt you will," Snape said. "But try to, anyway."

* * *

Potions still continued to be a nightmare after that, but Harry tried his best to keep his head down and not rise to the bait that Snape so eloquently handed him. He had also worked out that, even though Snape banished his potion attempts and decried his intelligence and performance every chance he got, Harry's actual marks did not suffer. This, perhaps more than anything, helped Harry to weather the storm of Snape's dual personality.

Harry didn't see Snape much outside of class anymore, which was hard. He knew he could go to the taciturn wizard if he needed to, but the things that Snape had told him made sense and Harry didn't want to risk Snape's cover, much less his life, over some trifle. Snape was trying to keep Harry alive, after all, and it would be poor repayment to risk exposing Snape as anything other than hostile to Harry.

The only time that Harry had risked going to see Snape was when his suspicions about Draco Malfoy had become too much to ignore. Unfortunately, Snape didn't seem inclined to believe him any more than Dumbledore had.

After stating his case, Snape merely said, "Leave it, Potter." Snape hadn't even looked up from the stack of essays he was marking.

"But, Professor," Harry complained, wishing someone, anyone, would listen to him. "He is up to something. Can't you just please look into it? Just to be sure?"

"This doesn't concern you, Potter," Snape replied calmly.

"I know, but I think this is more serious than just some stupid schoolboy prank or whatever you might think it is. He's up to something!"

Snape set down his quill and gave Harry a hard look. "You don't know when to stop, do you?"

"Sir?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling like he'd overstepped some invisible boundary.

Snape rose from his desk, anger clear on his features, his fists clenched. "I told you to leave it. I told you it doesn't concern you. I told you to drop it. But you can't, can you?"

Harry took a step back. "I just thought… I mean… you're his head of house and… I thought… well…I thought you should know…"

"You thought I should know," Snape repeated in a dangerous, mocking voice.

Harry swallowed and took another step back.

"And did it not occur to you that I might already _know_? That, in fact, I might know _more than you?"_

"I…" Harry began, unnerved by how much Snape sounded like Dumbledore in that moment.

"Of course it didn't," Snape sneered. "Is your need to play the hero so great that it's worth risking everything on your simple-minded suspicions? The Great Harry Potter knows _more_ than everyone else, is that it?"

"Stop," Harry said. "Don't. Please."

"Then don't question my position!" Snape snapped.

"I wasn't," Harry protested.

"Yes, you were. You accused me of neglecting my students and my responsibilities."

"I didn't mean…"

"Get out, Potter, and don't bother me with this again."

"But…"

"Out!" Snape said, his lip curling, as pointed at the door.

Part of Harry wanted to run, but another part of him knew he couldn't leave it like this between them, if only for his own sake. Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He opened his mouth to speak and then really looked at Snape. The wizard looked drawn and tired. Worry lines creased his forehead. He was even trembling slightly, and Harry had the feeling it was due to stress or worry, not anger.

"You're right," Harry said. "I have no right to question how you do your job. I'm sorry."

Snape's arm dropped and the anger on his face slipped into a scowl.

"Please don't be mad. I'm an idiot sometimes. You know that," Harry said.

Snape snorted. "That you are, Potter."

Harry hesitated. Were they good? He didn't want to leave on bad terms.

Snape returned to his desk and sat down. "Don't you have studying to do or something?" Snape asked. Snape scrubbed a hand over his face, as if dealing with Harry, with everything, was just too much for him this evening.

"Yeah, I do. I'll just go now, then, okay?"

Snape nodded.

As Harry reached for the door, Snape said, "Your instincts are good, Potter, but your ability to keep your nose out of where it doesn't belong is abysmal."

"Right," Harry said, smiling at being back on steady ground with Snape. "I'll try and keep that in mind." Harry heard Snape snort in response as he slipped out the door.

* * *

The term seemed to drag on as all of the professors were constantly harping about NEWTs the following year. As such, the complexity of the subject matter, as well as the amount of homework, seemed to increase exponentially. Everyone in Gryffindor tower was struggling, except perhaps Hermione, who stuck to a study schedule no matter what.

Thus, it was a bit of a surprise when she agreed to accompany Harry and Ron that Saturday for a trip to Hogsmeade. It was the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas and Harry was hoping to get a little shopping done. It was always a bit dodgy trying to shop for your friends and surprise them when your friends were actually with you the whole time. But as they'd been expressly bidden to stick together in groups for their own safety, they'd had to make the best of it.

Having finished their shopping, they decided to head to the Three Broomsticks before making the trek back to the castle. A light snow was falling and a group of carolers were singing Christmas songs in front of one of the shops on the high street as they passed.

Harry was enjoying the day. He'd managed to purchase gifts for Ron and Hermione without them noticing—or so he hoped—and he'd also found something small for Snape, an ornate pocket potions journal that was charmed to notice patterns in potions or ingredients and point them out to the brewer; Harry hoped the man would like it. It wasn't much, but he wanted to get him something for helping him get through the past summer. The autumn term hadn't been great between them, but Harry supposed it was the best it could be, given the circumstances.

Harry smiled and turned to ask Hermione about what she was doing over the Christmas holidays when she suddenly went rigid, her face blank.

"Hermione?" he asked.

Then a hand clamped on his arm and the compressing bands of Apparition closed around him. The last thing he saw was Ron and Hermione, rigid as boards, falling face first into the snow, not even raising their arms to block their fall. Then he was being sucked away, an ominous feeling and the first stirrings of panic filling his gut.


	2. Chapter 2

Snape had spent the morning marking an abominable set of 2nd year essays on the properties of Moonstone. Now, he was brewing, something he much preferred to do, especially since he was working on a potion of his own creation. The idea had come to him a fortnight ago. It wasn't a new potion, or even a new idea, as much as it was an improvement on a mediocre potion that, if it worked, could make a tremendous difference to its efficacy.

Snape added a single unicorn hair along with powdered bicorn horn. He observed how their simultaneous addition turned the characteristic grey swirling mist into more of a lavender shade that shimmered and sparkled. He sighed, half relieved, half intrigued. The modification had an equal chance of transfiguring the potion into something more potent as it did of exploding his cauldron. He had just turned the flame down when he heard the headmaster calling his name from his study.

Hurrying to that room, he found the headmaster's head in his fireplace.

"Severus, I need you to come to my office."

Snape hesitated. If he abandoned the potion now, all of his efforts would be lost. "Can you give me 15 minutes, Albus? I just need to finish…"

"I'm afraid it can't wait, Severus. We have a situation."

Snape felt his stomach drop. The headmaster's use of the word ' _situation_ 'was code for ' _something bloody awful has happened and we are truly screwed this time_.'

Foregoing his potion, Snape nodded and stepped through the Floo as soon as Dumbledore's head disappeared.

Snape stepped through to Dumbledore's office and quickly took in his surroundings. Several people milled around, anxious and fidgeting, everyone talking at once. There were four Aurors, two of whom were Order members, a couple of Ministry employees by the looks of them, plus Arthur and Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, and Dumbledore. And, seated in front of the headmaster's desk, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, who were pale and shaking. Anxiety and a sense of foreboding rocketed through Snape's body at the sight of the two students. Weasley sported a bloody nose and a black eye. Granger's forehead bled sluggishly as she sobbed. Most ominous and obvious of all was the absence of one Harry James Potter.

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly and silence fell.

"Please allow me to state what is known at this time so that we are all on the same parchment. This afternoon at approximately 4:20 pm, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley were ambushed on High Street in Hogsmeade as they made their way from Honeydukes to the Three Broomsticks. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley were hit from behind with Immobulus spells while Mr. Potter was grabbed by the arm and Apparated away." Dumbledore glanced around the room with an air of utmost authority, but Snape recognized the true worry that reflected from his mentor's eyes.

"Witnesses say that three well-dressed wizards entered High Street from Queen Street and joined a group of carollers in front of Scrivenshaft's. When Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley passed the carollers, the three men detached themselves and fell into step behind them. Approximately three-quarters of a block from the Three Broomsticks, the men accosted the Gryffindors. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley did not see their attackers. Witnesses are being interviewed as we speak for any information."

Dumbledore's gazed locked briefly with Severus's and Severus felt the bile rise in his throat. Did Dumbledore blame him? Suspect him? Or was he merely giving Snape a heads up as to what was coming next? Snape drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the anger and fear slicing through him. If the Death Eaters had Potter…

Dumbledore cleared his throat again. "At this time, we assume that the attackers were Death Eaters, likely acting on Voldemort's orders. Before we dispatch to our various tasks, are there any questions?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke up then, directing his question at Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. "Did either of you hear your attacker's voice?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I was talking to Harry at the time. I didn't hear anything."

"The spell might have been non-verbal," Remus Lupin suggested.

"I think I might have heard a gruff male voice," Miss Granger ventured. "But there were a lot of people around and I can't be sure it was the voice of my attacker. I didn't hear any specific words. Or if I did, I wasn't paying attention so I can't remember."

Arthur Weasley spoke then. "Perhaps we could view their memories in your Pensieve, Albus? They might contain pertinent information."

"I agree," Dumbledore said.

Snape stood back, letting the others hash out the details. He felt sick and disconcerted. If it had been Death Eaters, if it had been planned—and it sounded as if it had been—why had he not been informed? Did the Dark Lord suspect his true allegiances? Perhaps it wasn't Death Eaters, but who else would snatch the boy? Wanna-be Death Eaters? That was possible. He ran through the students in his house who were children of Death Eaters. Had they perhaps been enlisted by their parents? Could Draco Malfoy have orchestrated Harry's capture because it was easier than killing Dumbledore?

Finally, Dumbledore was shooing everyone out of his office, handing out tasks like lemon drops, and promising to make himself available as needed. Then, it was just Severus and the headmaster.

"Please, have a seat," Dumbledore said, indicating a chair in front of his desk.

"I'd rather stand," Snape replied.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk and put his head in his hands. The gesture was so uncharacteristic and so fraught with worry that it unnerved Snape.

"Sir," Snape said, "do you know more than you stated?"

"I wish I did, Severus," Dumbledore said, lifting an aged and shattered face. "I have failed him. I was sure he was well protected. I had precautions in place. More than the Aurors know. More than anyone knows, really."

"Such as?" Snape asked.

"Two Order members were with Harry at all times, either beneath invisibility cloaks or Disillusioned. The poor child couldn't even use the loo by himself, not that he knew it, of course. And there is always heightened security in Hogsmeade on Hogwarts weekends—extra Aurors, all available Order members. Plus I have—had—a tracking spell on the boy. As well as Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. Just in case."

"What happened to Potter's tracking spell?" Snape asked.

"Gone," Dumbledore said. "Or blocked. I'm not sure. All I know is that it isn't working."

Dumbledore tugged absently on his beard: a sure sign of distress, Snape knew. Snape couldn't fault the headmaster as he was feeling equally unsettled.

"I even had a variety of magical recording devices placed all around Hogsmeade—anywhere the students might go. The sound recordings didn't pick up anything because of the carollers. The visual recordings showed three middle-aged well-dressed wizards—all Polyjuiced, I'm sure."

"What happened to the Order members tailing Potter?"

"They were found unconscious in the street, still invisible. They were cursed from behind as well." Dumbledore rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "The Order members assigned to Harry were also equipped with various spells, wards, and other paraphernalia that would allow them to detect dark intent and repel such attacks."

"It sounds like the attackers knew what to expect," Snape said.

"It does," Dumbledore reflected. "Or, they just guessed that I am a paranoid old man and came prepared for everything. But they must have been shielded somehow, so as to hide their true intentions."

Snape considered this. "Or they were under the Imperius Curse."

Dumbledore considered Snape.

"Perhaps there were more than three attackers. Perhaps the three you saw were expendable. That would make sense as they did not hide themselves. Polyjuiced, Imperioed, whatever the case may be," Snape proposed. "Likely, there were more wizards pulling strings in the background."

"But why use three decoys?" Albus pondered.

"If it was the Dark Lord, then I suspect he would have done it to…"

"To show my inability to protect the boy. To taunt me by taking Harry, in broad daylight, right from under my nose," Albus finished, his voice laden with despair.

Snape nodded tightly, his gut coiling with dread. "It was well planned and orchestrated. Perhaps they'd been practicing, testing Potter's defences on previous Hogsmeade weekends."

"Does this sound like the sort of thing the Dark Lord would do?"

Snape didn't even have to consider the answer to that question, and he suspected Dumbledore hadn't needed to ask it, either. He simply nodded.

"And you've heard nothing of the sort from your meetings, Severus?"

"You know I haven't," Snape replied.

They shared a long gaze, not one filled with suspicion but rather of concern regarding Severus's standing with Lord Voldemort and why he'd not been made aware of such a plan.

"Do you think you've been compromised?" Albus finally asked.

"Do you?" Snape challenged.

Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed them clean on his robes. "I don't know, Severus. No one person knew all of the protections I placed on Harry. Even you are only aware of some of them now."

"I don't know, either," Snape replied. "I haven't got the impression that the Dark Lord suspects me or trusts me any less than he has in the past, but the truth of the matter is unknowable."

Dumbledore said nothing, simply returning his spectacles to his face.

"Regardless," Snape continued, "I do not like this at all."

"Nor do I," Albus replied. "I can't see how anything good can come of this."

And for an eternal optimist like Dumbledore to utter such words made Snape feel even more uneasy.

"I will gather the Order," Dumbledore said. "We will need to be able to respond at a moment's notice. And if it is the Death Eaters…"

"A likely assumption," Snape concurred.

"Then Harry's rescue may hinge on you and you alone, Severus."

As if Snape needed telling. "And what would you have me do, Headmaster? What is Potter's life worth to you?"

"Do you really need to ask me that, Severus?" At Snape's sharp look, Dumbledore sighed. "Everything," the headmaster breathed in defeat. "Bring him back alive, Severus, whatever it takes."

"So you no longer need a spy in the Dark Lord's camp?"

"Harry's life comes first. I cannot see a way you could remove him from Voldemort's clutches without implicating yourself."

Snape laughed without humor. "But you would like me to do that very thing, wouldn't you, Albus? Return Potter to you and remain in the Dark Lord's good graces? Remain your spy?"

"If it were possible…"

Snape rose to his feet. "You are delusional, old man," Snape said. "It will be a miracle if I manage to get either of us out of there alive. Assuming the Dark Lord even has Potter, that is."

"But you will try, Severus?"

"Of course I will try," Snape snapped.

"The Portkeys are all in working order?" Dumbledore asked.

"Of course," Snape said, not bothering to make a visual inspection of the many escape routes that Dumbledore had placed on Snape's person should he ever need to leave the Dark Lord's service at a moment's notice.

"Then we wait," Dumbledore said.

Snape would have made a snide remark but the headmaster already looked as if he'd aged fifty years.

Instead, Snape nodded curtly and took his leave. His palms were clammy and his pulse was too rapid, the harbingers of fear and nerves. He closed his eyes as he rode down the spiral staircase, taking the long way back to his quarters. He willed himself to focus on the things he did have control over—such as the potions that Potter might need and other preparations he could make. Assuming the Death Eaters had Potter, the boy was not likely to be in good shape if—when—Snape was summoned. For the thought of him not being summoned at all if they had Potter was utterly unthinkable.

* * *

By that evening, the castle was in an uproar. Word of Potter's abduction had spread like wildfire. The younger students were terrified, the older students were worried. The Slytherins were cautious. Snape relied on the Head Boy and Girl, as well as the prefects, to alert him of any pertinent gossip. He also had listening charms in the common areas as well as the bedchambers of known children of Death Eaters to keep abreast of any noteworthy news or activities. He had yet to hear anything worthwhile. And he had yet to be summoned.

As Saturday turned into Sunday, his apprehension grew. If Harry had been captured by the Dark Lord, surely the Dark Lord would have called his followers to him to gloat at his achievement and, ultimately, to celebrate Potter's demise. But Severus's mark had not burned, whether from a lack of a gathering or a lack of trust, he wasn't sure.

If the Dark Lord had planned Potter's abduction, why hadn't Snape been informed? Unless it was an opportunistic attack by Death Eaters looking to move up in the ranks of the Dark Lord's inner circle. But it seemed too well researched and planned to have been a surprise attack. And if it wasn't a sneak attack, then Snape not knowing about the plan did not bode well for his own standing in the Dark Lord's inner circle.

Dumbledore seemed to concur. The headmaster had forbidden Snape from leaving the castle, fearing that if Snape had been compromised, he'd surely be targeted. Silently, Snape agreed. He had nowhere to go, anyway—except a Death Eater meeting where, if he was spectacularly lucky, he might just be able to save Potter's life, assuming the boy was there.

His mind tossed around scenario after scenario of what he might find if the Dark Lord summoned him. All paths led down dark and dangerous avenues, making his gut churn with anxiety. If the Dark Lord doubted him at all, even minutely, he knew he wouldn't have the slightest chance of saving Potter. If the Dark Lord doubted him and summoned him nonetheless, Snape knew he'd be just as dead as Potter.

As Sunday turned into Monday, Hogwarts writhed with agitation. The students in his classes were unfocused and distracted, more prone to gossiping than to paying attention. Snape found himself assigning remedial potions or reviewing course materials as he couldn't be bothered to teach anything new with his mind so occupied elsewhere.

By Tuesday evening, Snape was wearing a rut in his carpet in front of his fireplace, willing his dark mark to burn. He'd taken to drinking nutrient potions in lieu of meals, as he couldn't stomach even the thought of food. Sleeping potions had soon followed as he realized that without rest, he would be no use to Potter, and without potions, he could get no rest.

As Tuesday turned into Wednesday, Hogwarts had settled somewhat, though he had not. The more time that passed without a summons, the worse it would be for Potter.

Thursday evening found him pacing the headmaster's office, sick with worry. He felt strung out, stretched beyond his limits, sure he would break at any moment.  
"Do you come bearing news, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, but his voice lacked any real hope for such a development.

"As far as I can tell, the Dark Lord has not summoned any of his followers," Snape reported. He had checked in with Lucius and Avery and asked after other things in hopes of catching wind of news.

"It is possible that the Death Eaters were not the ones who kidnapped Harry," Dumbledore said.

"If not them, then who?" Snape queried, his fists clenched in impotent rage. Who else could possibly have the boy? Was he even still… Snape cursed, unwilling to entertain the idea that Potter might not still be among the living.

Dumbledore tugged on his beard. "I haven't the…"

Snape hissed suddenly as fire raced up his nerves, causing him to clutch at the marked skin on his forearm. For the first time in many years, Snape was overjoyed at the summons.

His gaze met Dumbledore's and Snape thought they both likely wore the same expression: hope warring with caution.

Dumbledore got to his feet and came around the desk, laying a hand on Snape's shoulder. His eyes suddenly overly bright, Dumbledore said simply, "Bring him home, Severus."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This is the dark chapter that has abuse, rape, and torture in it. If you want to skip these scenes but continue with this story, skip to the next chapter.

* * *

Snape, who'd taken to carrying his shrunken Death Eater robes and mask on his person since Potter's disappearance, raced to the border of Hogwarts's wards. He quickly changed and then Apparated, following the pull of the Dark Mark. Other Death Eaters were popping into existence all around him.

Snape cleared his mind and reinforced his mental shields. Although he had plenty of practice, he needed to remain absolutely unaffected by whatever state Potter was in, if indeed the boy was here. Any indication of discomfort or concern on his part would earn him a one-way ticket to the hereafter, courtesy of the Dark Lord himself, and Potter would fare no better.

He found himself in the middle of the pack as the robed and masked figures made their way up an ornate set of steps and into a large manor house. Snape had never seen this property before, although it fairly reeked of Dark Magic. He mentally reached out to touch its wards, not surprised to find the place heavily guarded and unplotable. Any thought of discovering its location to pass along to the Order seemed hopeless. The Dark Lord was thorough if nothing else, and he trusted no one completely, not even his most faithful servants.

Snape entered an extravagant ballroom with arched ceilings and ornate trim. Large, tall windows spanned two sides of the room, their panes of glass charmed to be mirrors. At the front of the room, on a raised dais, sat the Dark Lord, situated in a throne-like chair as if holding court.

"My loyal servants," the Dark Lord hissed, as his followers came to kneel respectfully before him. "So good of you to join me this evening." He rose from his chair and walked among the kneeling Death Eaters, touching various bowed heads as he went.

"I have called you here this evening to reward your great service to me. You have been patient, so patient. Rise," Voldemort commanded by both voice and gesture, and his servants obediently got to their feet, although their heads remained bowed.

"Tonight, my friends, will be the beginning of what we have all worked so hard for. Tonight, we shall all be rewarded," Voldemort proclaimed, his arms thrown wide to include his followers in his glory.

"As you know, I have long sought to extend my reach beyond this small island so many of you call home. I have gained allies across Europe, and parts of Asia and the Americas as well. For in order to ensure the success of the many plans we have for a purer Wizarding world, we must unify and fight for the same cause, under one banner, under one leader." Here Voldemort indicated himself.

"But never fear, my loyal servants, never fear," Voldemort reassured them. "For you have been with me from the very beginning. You have seen me resurrected, you have remained by my side, and you shall be rewarded above all others."

"You see, my allies—for all of their cunning, charm, and dedication—have yet to prove themselves to me. Unlike you, they have not stood beside me since I began this journey many years ago. As such, in order to gain entrance to these hallowed ranks, they must prove to me that they are worthy of the honor of joining us," Voldemort said as he circled his followers.

"Tonight, I will add six new members to my ranks," he continued, his voice rising with excitement. "These loyal servants come to me from Germany, where their parents once served under Grindewald. Grindewald, who was on the right track, though he never had the courage or the strength to see beyond his paltry ideals. It is I who have taken not only the next step, but several more, to create a world we witches and wizards can be proud to call our own."

Stepping back to the front of the gathered Death Eaters, Voldemort continued. "So what is it, you ask, that these six initiates have done to earn my trust? What could they possibly have done to gain entrance into our inner circle, you ask? Well, let me not ruin the surprise. Let them show you, so they too can gain your trust. Let us welcome our new brothers."

Voldemort pointed his wand at the two adjoining doors at the far end of the ballroom and they burst open. The gathered Death Eaters turned to see six robed and masked figures, standing in formation, holding what looked like a large burlap sack between them.

"Welcome, my children," Voldemort cried. "Come. Step forward. Join us now. Show us what it is that you have brought us tonight."

Voldemort waved his arm in a grandiose gesture and the gathered Death Eaters promptly spread out into a loose circle with an opening at the far end to allow the six new members to bring their offering forward. Carefully, the new members laid their burden at the Dark Lord's feet and then stepped back to join others, thereby completing the circle.

Snape braced himself, willing his shields to hold, willing himself to show no emotion, no matter what the suspiciously stained fabric hid.

"Revelabis," Voldemort murmured, flicking his wand at the sack with a flourish. The dirty cloth jumped aside. There, amidst the nest of rags, was the naked and bruised body of a teenage wizard, his head shaven to make the lightning bolt scar on his forehead stand out prominently for all to see.

Snape repressed a shiver at the sight. With Potter's head shorn, he looked a bit like an emaciated version of the Dark Lord himself.

"You see, my loyal followers," Voldemort said, "to prove their dedication to the cause, our new members have brought us Harry Potter!" Voldemort laughed with glee. "There were those of you who said it could not be done." Here Voldemort looked directly at Snape and Malfoy.

" _Crucio_!" rang out, and Snape, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott fell to the floor, screaming in agony.

Voldemort raised his wand, releasing the curse. "There were those who said it would be too difficult."

This time, Wormtail, Avery, and Macnair fell to the ground in a rictus of agony.

"And there were those who doubted me."

Five more Death Eaters shrieked and crumpled.

"But see here, my loyal followers, our friends from Germany have worked tirelessly to discover and undo the protections that the pathetic old fool Dumbledore placed on the boy to _keep him safe."_ Voldemort's voice rang with mockery and derision for Dumbledore. _"_ And, as such," Voldemort continued, "they will be initiated into our ranks this evening with the highest of honors."

Snape watched dispassionately as the six new members received the Dark Mark. From his point of view he could see Potter's chest rise and fall. Potter was still alive. Surely not for long, but as long as the boy breathed there was hope, however slim.

After the six new members were inducted into the Dark Lord's inner circle, they rejoined the other Death Eaters.

"Alas," said Voldemort, his arms outstretched in welcome once more, "our guest of honor has missed all of the excitement. Perhaps we should wake him and welcome him to the party!"

Voldemort pointed his wand at the unconscious figure on the ground. "Enervate!"

Potter groaned and rolled onto his side, curling protectively into a ball, his eyes shut tight. His ribs stood out prominently. He'd lost weight, likely from being starved. Variously colored bruises stretched across his body, a torturous palette of blues, greens, and purples. Snape pushed back the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him at the sight.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort jeered. "So nice of you to join us this evening."

Slowly, Potter opened his eyes. One hand scrabbled for his non-existent wand, while the other held his broken glasses to his face.

"Occulus reparo," Voldemort said casually, and Potter's glasses fixed themselves. "We can't have you not being able to see, now can we?" Voldemort mocked.

To Snape's surprise, Potter sneered up at Voldemort and mumbled something.

"What's that, boy? I can't hear you."

"I said," Potter spat, "go to hell!"

At this Voldemort laughed, as did his followers.

"Such spirit," Voldemort observed. "Such determination. We shall see how it serves you at the end of this night, when you and I shall face one another for the last time."

Potter glared, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Unless, Harry Potter, you would like to join me? Become one of my loyal servants? Lord Voldemort would reward you well."

"Never," Potter spat, his eyes blazing.

"Tis such a pity," Voldemort taunted, "wasting a wizard such as yourself."

Voldemort slashed his wand through the air and a jagged cut appeared on Potter's cheek.

"I do so hate to spill the blood of a wizard who could serve me well. But, alas, Harry Potter, your allegiances are misguided."

For all of the pretence of strength Potter was trying to display, Snape recognized the lines of pain and fear in the boy's face, the slight trembling of his limbs.

"Do you know why no magic has been used against you since my fine new servants captured you?" Voldemort asked.

Potter glared but did not respond.

"It must have been difficult for them to have to resort to lowly Muggle measures to keep you in line. You are worth nothing more than a lowly Muggle, Harry Potter. Nothing more than a lowly Muggle." Voldemort began walking a circle around the boy who refused to cower. "I also find that magic can sometimes overly affect the weak-minded, and I want you to be fully present for tonight's celebration."

Snape felt his stomach turn to lead.

"I want you to _feel_ everything a lowly Muggle would feel. I want you to know what it's like to be deprived of magic, as you, Harry Potter, do not deserve the title of wizard. You are nothing more than a worthless Muggle, Harry Potter. And let me show you what happens to _worthless Muggles._ "

Voldemort looked around the circle, evaluating each of the Death Eaters that stood before him.

Snape held his breath, revolted by what he'd be chosen for, and yet hoping it would be him so he could spare the boy.

"Hmmm…." Voldemort purred. "The honor of firsts should go to our newest members, but likely they are not familiar with our customs. So, perhaps… ah, yes… Lucius… would you be so kind as to instruct our new members here on how we welcome special guests to our parties?"

"It would be an honor, my Lord," Lucius replied hungrily, striding forward.

Snape wanted to turn away. He didn't want to watch. But to do so would raise suspicion. And so he joined in with the others, jeering and encouraging the "lucky bastard" who got to deflower the boy first. To make matters worse, Snape knew Lucius enjoyed this sort of thing. And considering he had a son Harry's age, it made it all the more depraved. Not for the first time, Snape wondered if Lucius didn't abuse his own son.

Potter tried to fight, but it was useless. Malfoy had a wand, Potter did not. And Malfoy, that sadistic bastard, did everything he could to make it _hurt_. Snape clenched his teeth, willing himself to appear to enjoy the festivities. _I can still save him_ , Snape thought to himself. _I just need to be chosen. And in order to be chosen, I have to appear eager._

Snape spared a quick glance toward the German entourage. Two of the newest members seemed a bit green at the display. _Good,_ Snape thought.

Lucius finished with a shout of triumph, as if buggering a magically bound child was some masterful accomplishment. Lucius got to his feet, his flagging member covered in blood and bodily fluids, standing tall and proud as if to show off, before bowing to his audience, dressing himself, and rejoining the circle.

The Dark Lord awarded two of the new German members the next two turns. The first one seemed hesitant and the crowd shouted out spells and encouragement to aid him. The second one did not suffer such qualms and was nearly as vicious as Malfoy had been.

By this time, Potter was a snivelling mess, his face covered in tears and blood and snot, not to mention cuts and bruises, and his shrieks had dimmed to hoarse shouts of protest.

Sweat ran freely down Snape's back as he bit his tongue and bided his time, hoping, praying to be chosen before it was too late.

Henley was called next. He was a brute of a man, but clearly preferred women to men, and by that grace alone, Potter was spared most of what Henley's females victims were not.

"Severusss," Voldemort finally hissed. "Perhaps you would like a chance toteach one of your students something new?"

Potter's head swivelled from Voldemort to Snape, who was still wearing his mask.

"I would be most honored, my Lord," Snape said, fear and relief coursing a wild beat through his veins.

Potter was curled on his side, whinging low in his throat. Snape doubted the teen even realized he was making the sound. As Snape glided forward, he used his wand to flip Potter onto his back. Before Potter could curl back into a ball again, Snape roughly forced the boy's knees apart with his hands and kneeled between them. Potter's eyes met his, and the kaleidoscope of emotions that flashed through them—fear, recognition, hope, betrayal, despair—stole Snape's breath.

With one hand, Snape made a show of fumbling with his robes; with the other, he grabbed Potter's throat, pushing the teen into the floor as he pressed the gold band on his ring finger into Potter's Adam's apple, all of his hopes pinned to the one and only word he dared utter aloud: "Go!"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: For those of you wanting to skip the descriptions of abuse, this chapter is mostly okay except for the third from last paragraph that describes Harry's injuries begining with the sentence: "The healing took quite a bit longer than Snape had anticipated."

* * *

"Go!"

Snape felt the tell-tale hook behind his navel and he and Potter were jerked away, sucked into compressing bands of darkness, and spat out on the floor of Dumbledore's office. Trembling with adrenaline and relief, Snape scooped up the naked, keening boy and moved to the camp bed that had been prepared for Potter's hoped-for arrival. As gently as he could, he laid the boy down. Then he tossed his mask aside and pulled off his Death Eater robes, covering the trembling teen with the heavy material to give Potter whatever warmth and comfort he could.

Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, who had been waiting, rushed to his side. Severus had prepped them both for what they might expect—for what condition Potter might be returned in. He was very thankful he had done so as Poppy got to work immediately and without any fuss.

Dumbledore pulled Snape aside and cast a silencing charm around them.

"Are you all right, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, taking note of the blood that speckled Snape's hands.

"I am fine, Albus. But the boy…"

"Is in good hands," Dumbledore pronounced.

Snape didn't disagree, but as Potter thrashed and fought Poppy, seemingly unaware of where he was, Snape said, "If there's nothing else, headmaster?"

"Anything you need to report?"

"Nothing that can't wait," Snape said, glancing briefly at Dumbledore to receive his nod of dismissal before rushing to Potter's side.

Poppy was trying to hold Potter down as she said, "Mr. Potter, lie still, I am trying to heal you."

"Mr. Potter, calm yourself," Snape said.

"Get away from me! Don't touch me!" Potter screamed, trying to writhe away from Poppy. He looked a right mess, bleeding, and bruised as he was, Snape's robe slipping from his slight frame. He was also pale and shaking, and likely going into shock.

"Potter!" Snape shouted.

Instantly, the boy stilled.

"Potter, look around you. You are at Hogwarts, in the headmaster's office. Look."

Slowly, Potter swivelled his head, taking in the décor, as well as Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Snape—now divested of his Death Eater attire.

"This is a pain relieving potion," Snape said, lifting the boy by his shoulders with one hand while holding the vial of potion to the boy's lips with his other. "Drink it slowly."

Snape let his breath out as the boy obeyed. Snape set aside the empty vial and pulled his discarded Death Eater robes back up over the teen like a blanket. "Madam Pomfrey is attempting to tend to your injuries, Mr. Potter, so please lie still."

"Snape," Potter breathed, locking eyes with him. "You… I…"

"Just relax, Mr. Potter," Poppy said. "I am running a diagnostic…"

"No," Harry said, becoming agitated once more. "Professor Snape…"

"Harry," Dumbledore said. "Professor Snape got you away from that place using a Portkey I gave him. That is why you are in my office. Professor Snape saved you."

"No!" Harry protested. "You have to listen. Snape is…"

"Snape is not a Death Eater, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "He is a spy for the Order. He replied to Voldemort's summons on my orders."

"NO! Listen!"

"There, there, dear," Madam Pomfrey soothed. "Don't trouble yourself. You are in a right state and we need to get you fixed up. All this shouting is just making things harder on yourself."

* * *

Terror clawed at Harry's throat. Beyond the pain that seemed to slice its way across every inch of his battered and abused body, his mind screamed to be heard.

Poppy turned to Snape. "Could you hand me the sedative draught?"

Vial in hand, she turned back to Harry. "Take this, dear. It will help you sleep, which is what you need right now so that I can heal you properly."

"But I have to tell you…" Harry said, his panic rising.

"There, there, dear, just drink this now…"

"Get some rest, Harry, we can discuss everything in the morning…"

"Potter, for once in your life…"

As Poppy pressed the glass vial to his lips, Harry struck out, sending the vial flying through the air to shatter against the wall.

"LISTEN TO ME!" Harry shouted.

Stunned silence followed his outburst, After a moment, the headmaster spoke. "All right, Harry, we're listening."

Harry gritted his teeth, trying to breath past the pain. The draught had only taken the edge off. Everything still hurt, and he shuddered at the memory of what they'd done to him before Snape had gotten him away… _Snape_.

"I screwed up," Harry blurted out. He tried to clench the bedclothes to keep himself grounded, but his hands were swollen and trying to move them made fire scream up his nerve endings.

"They were torturing me, not letting me sleep, putting poison and bugs in my food…" Harry shivered at the memory of cutting open a chicken breast to see hundreds of maggots writhing inside. He clamped down on the thought and willed himself not to vomit. He cleared his throat, once, twice, three times, before he was able to continue.

"I was holding my own pretty well, even with the beatings, until…" Harry swallowed, glancing briefly at Snape. "Until they mentioned Professor Snape." Harry closed his eyes, unwilling to bear the judgment that awaited him. "I didn't mean to, but when they mentioned you, Professor, I just reacted."

There was a beat of silence. Then Snape spoke. "What did you say to them?"

"Nothing! I swear! It was just… my body reacted to the mention of you. And they figured out that I had feelings for you and…" Harry paused, sucking in a deep breath. It hurt to breathe, but this was more important. Snape's life was on the line. He looked up and was startled to see a horrified expression on Snape's face. He glanced at Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, who looked equally unnerved.

"What?" Harry asked, glancing between the three of them. What had he said? His brain was muddled and his mouth was distractingly dry and his body ached something fierce. He reviewed his words in his mind.

"Oh, bloody hell," Harry exclaimed. "Not _those_ kind of feelings…." Harry ran a shaky hand over his face. "Just that… I care about you, professor. You've become sort of like a… a fath… a mentor to me. I didn't want anything bad to happen to you." Feeling chagrined, Harry added, "I kind of jumped when they mentioned your name and that's the first reaction they'd managed to get out of me."

Taking another deep painful breath, he added, "I'm really sorry, Professor. I'm afraid I might have broken your cover. I didn't say anything, but they might suspect something anyway. I swear I didn't mean to..."

"Potter," Snape interrupted. "I hardly think it matters at this point. Once I removed you from the Dark Lord's presence, I made my loyalties clear."

Harry felt momentarily confused before realization struck. "Oh," Harry said, slumping back into his pillow. "I thought… I was worried that…" He let out a long breath, feeling stupid, and looking away. In a much quieter voice, he added, "I was afraid they'd try and kill you. And it would have been my fault if anything happened to you." Harry felt the tears prick at the back of his eyes again. He'd lost control of his emotions days ago, after they… after they…

"Harry, you've been under a lot of stress. I really do think it's time you rest." Dumbledore's voice was kind but firm.

"Can I stay here? In your office?" Harry asked, looking at the headmaster.

"Once you are stable, dear," Madam Pomfrey said, "we will move you to the hospital wing."

"NO! Please, no," Harry breathed. _Wherever you are, we will find you._ "The hospital wing isn't safe. The Death Eaters… they said… they made it clear…" Harry gasped. Suddenly it felt very hard to breathe, as if a steel band was wrapped around his chest, getting tighter every moment. "Hogwarts isn't safe."

Harry's vision started to dim, and he scrubbed at his eyes. "The children of Death Eaters in the castle are under strict orders to… to…" He felt the world spinning away from him as the panic started to win out. He at gripped the edges of consciousness, trying to stop the distressed noise that escaped him.

When he felt a potion at his lips, he clenched his jaw and turned his head away.

"Harry, I assure you that you are safe here. No one will harm you," Dumbledore reassured.

"No," Harry said. "Not safe. Not safe anywhere." Harry curled into a ball, wrapping his hands over his head. "Oh god… They're going to… They said… no, not again… not again... please…" he cried out.

"Poppy, the sleeping draught if you please," Dumbledore said.

"No!" Harry said, bolting upright, his eyes darting frantically around the room. "Snape. Where's Snape?"

Harry looked around frantically for Snape. He was gasping for breath. It didn't help any that the adrenaline was wearing off now, too, and the pain that was bad before now started to swamp him in unbearable waves. He groaned and wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to stop the keening sound that escaped him unbidden.

* * *

Snape, who had been standing at the head of the bed to get a better look at the cut on the boy's scalp that was bleeding profusely, spoke up.

"I am right here, Mr. Potter." Snape stepped into the teen's line of sight. Potter was pale and shaking. His eyes were wild, his pulse rapid, his breathing shallow. And the keening sound he was making tore a hole in Snape's heart.

Potter reached out a hand in entreaty, and then pulled it back, wrapping both of his arms around himself again in a protective, defensive gesture. "The hospital wing is not safe. Please. I can't stay there. I can't."

Potter stared at Snape, tears running down his cheeks once again.

"Can I… can I stay with you?" Potter pleaded. "In your rooms? Please? Please, Professor?"

Snape glanced to the headmaster and then Poppy before replying. "I will allow you to stay in my quarters, Potter, if you agree to take a calming draught now so that we can heal you, and then a dose of Dreamless Sleep once we arrive in my quarters. Do I have your word?"

Potter gazed at him, a mix of apprehension and relief coloring his features. "Yes, okay. Can we go now? Please?"

"Just as soon as Madam Pomfrey is finished healing you, we may go," Snape said.

Potter glanced at Madam Pomfrey who was holding out the calming draught. He tried to take it from her but pain radiated through his fingers and up his arm when he tried to grasp it.

Snape plucked the vial from Madam Pomfrey and held it to Potter's lips. "Drink," he said. Thankfully, the teen tipped his head back and allowed Snape to administer the draught.

Still looking up at Snape, and in a voice that was all the more eerie for being soft and steady, the boy uttered, "You're not safe here either, Professor."

* * *

The healing took quite a bit longer than Snape had anticipated. Potter had injuries from that evening's revelry, of course, which included a fair bit of tearing and bruising to the tissues of his nether regions, as well as blood loss and potential infection. His five days in captivity seemed to include a rigorous course of Muggle torture, leaving the boy with several crushed and broken bones in his hands and feet, a dislocated shoulder and knee, a broken jaw and nose, bruised ribs, a bruised kidney, several loose teeth, a slight concussion, and enough burns, cuts, and contusions to last a lifetime. In addition to all of that, he was severely dehyrdrated and suffering from malnutrition. And none of this touched on the psychological trauma the boy had endured that very evening. The recovery Potter would require would make the near-fatal curse he'd experienced at the Grangers' the previous summer seem like a walk in the park.

If Snape hadn't needed to help Poppy heal the boy, he rather thought he'd have locked himself in his rooms, downed an entire bottle of Firewhisky and a sleeping draught, crawled into bed, and hoped it was all a very bad dream. As it was, he was looking at a fragile young man who'd gone through what no human should have to. And Snape knew that Potter would be looking to him to make it better somehow.

"Bloody fucking hell," Snape murmured, dragging a hand across his face. How on earth was he going to make this right for the boy?


	5. Chapter 5

Once Poppy had stabilized and released Potter to Snape with detailed instructions regarding Potter's continued care, Snape had carried Potter through the Floo connection to his quarters and set him carefully on the couch. He perched Potter on his side in a nest of pillows, such that most of the boy's weight was on his hip and he was in a semi-upright position. Potter didn't look at Snape as he pulled his legs up tight and wrapped his arms around them.

The teen looked lost and scared. He was shaking like a leaf and looked ready to jump out of his skin at any moment. His panicky gaze darted around the room.

With exaggerated movements, so as not to startle the boy, Snape drew a blanket up over him.

"How are your wards, Professor?" Potter asked.

"My wards are quite sufficient, I assure you."

Potter glanced at the Floo. "Can you close that, sir? Please? It's just…"

"My Floo is already keyed to only let a select few individuals contact me."

"But if Hogwarts is overrun, sir…"

Snape studied Potter. Clearly the boy was terrified, but did he know more than they had realized?

"Give me a moment," Snape said, throwing Floo powder into his fire to speak with Albus. He pulled his head out, cast a few different spells, and turned back to Potter.

"My Floo will now only allow access to the headmaster, and only if the correct password is provided. Will that suffice?"

Potter looked uncertain but nodded.

When Snape reached for a pitcher of water, Potter flinched.

"Relax, I am only pouring you a glass of water. I imagine you are both thirsty and hungry."

Potter nodded.

"Sir," Potter asked. "I am sorry to ask, but I… I really need… that is… can I…"

"Spit it out, Potter, I cannot read your mind."

Harry shivered. "Can I have a bath? Please?"

Snape set down the water pitcher and really looked at the boy. He was curled in on himself, sick with pain and exhaustion, and what he really needed was sustenance and sleep.

"After what they did to me," Potter said, mumbling into his knees as a shiver wracked his body. "I feel… dirty."

Snape let out a long breath. He couldn't fault the boy for that. "Of course, Mr. Potter. Let me run the water for you."

Snape typically showered, but he did have a small tub. He enlarged it so that Harry would be more comfortable and filled it with warm water. Then he searched until he found the one other tap he was looking for.

He returned to find Potter staring into the fire, having not moved at all.

"Two conditions, Mr. Potter," Snape said.

Potter looked up, his expression wary.

"First, you are in no condition to walk just yet, so I will carry you. Second, I will stay with you while you bathe."

As Potter opened his mouth to protest, Snape held up a hand.

"I know you would prefer your privacy. And I would prefer not to have to babysit you. However, you are in no fit state to be left alone, and I will not be responsible for you drowning in my tub."

Potter seemed to think it over before finally nodding.

Snape divested himself of his robes and unbuttoned and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"Ready?" Snape asked.

"I'm ready, sir," Potter replied.

Snape lifted the injured teen carefully from the couch and carried him to the bathroom. Potter was wearing only an outer robe that Albus had transfigured from a handkerchief in his office. Snape frowned at how light and bony the boy felt.

Feeling Potter's apprehension, Snape set the teen—robe and all—into the bathwater, grateful he'd thought to turn on the bubble tap. Once Potter was situated in the tub, Snape banished the robe, leaving the boy naked yet fully concealed by a thick layer of lavender-colored foam. It wasn't much but, after what the boy had been through, Snape was keen to give him any privacy he safely could.

Potter leaned his head back and sank beneath the water up to his chin. "Thank you, Professor," he breathed.

"Don't thank me yet," Snape said, handing the boy a flannel and a bar of soap. "Wash up so I can get you out of here."

Snape watched as Potter tried to bathe himself under the cover of the bubbles. He regularly fumbled the bar of soap and every movement seemed to make him wince. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead.

"Do you need help?" Snape asked.

"No, I got it," Potter said, his voice strained.

From the look of pain on the boy's face, Snape knew Potter needed help. On the other hand, Potter needed some sense of control in all of this and if he could manage to bathe himself, Snape would let him do it.

When Potter attempted to lift his arms out of the water to wash his face, he let out a sharp cry.

"Allow me," Snape said, removing the flannel from Potter's loose grip. He summoned the bar of soap from the bowels of the bathtub and proceeded to build up a lather on the soft cloth. When he brought it towards Potter's head, the boy flinched.

"Relax, I will not hurt you," Snape said. Slowly, so the teen could watch, Snape laid the flannel against the boy's cheek. He gave the boy a moment to compose himself.

"Can you close your eyes for just a moment, Mr. Potter?" When he did, Snape drew the cloth over the boy's eyelids, brows, and forehead, before wiping away the soap residue with a clean flannel. "You can open them now."

Snape proceeded to gently wash away the blood and grime on the boy's face, leaving behind a bruised visage and a few thin scraggly patches of facial hair. Snape ran the flannel over Potter's shorn head, around his ears, and over his neck and shoulders. Then he used the clean flannel to rinse the boy.

"I am going to summon a house-elf," Snape told Potter, not wanting the boy to startle at the sound of Apparition. When the elf arrived with a crack, Potter jumped anyway.

"Master Snape is calling Tulip, sir,"

"Yes, please retrieve a pair of pyjamas for Mr. Potter, and his toiletries as well. Bring those here at once. And then, bring us some soup and pumpkin juice, if you will."

A moment later, a folded set of emerald green cotton pyjamas and a small basket arrived. Snape studied the contents of the basket.

"Would you like me to shave you?"

Potter hesitated for a long moment, then finally nodded.

Snape conjured up some shaving foam and wiped it across the boy's upper lip and over his jaw. He made quick work of it, holding the razor with one hand and the back of the boy's skull with the other hand to keep the teen steady.

Potter raised his hands to splash water on his face, rinsing away the foam.

"I can dry you off with a spell and dress you with a spell as well, but unfortunately, I can't afford you the same privacy I did when I put you in the water with your robe on."

"It's okay, Professor," Potter said, yawning and then grimacing at the pain of stretching his newly mended jaw.

Snape laid a towel over the toilet and then lifted Potter out of the tub and set him on it, throwing another towel over the boy's lap for privacy. Then he cast a drying charm on the teen. Looking in the basket, he pulled out deodorant, removed the cap, and handed it to the boy, who struggled but managed to put some on. Snape recapped it and returned it to the basket. Frowning at the toothbrush and toothpaste, he grabbed a potion vial off the vanity and handed it to Potter.

"Swish this around in your mouth. It will suffice until you are able to brush your teeth."

Potter did so and Snape held a cup for the boy to spit it out when he was finished.

"Now," Snape said, "let's get you dressed." He cast the dressing spell, pleased to see that Potter was wearing the pyjamas that Snape had had custom made for him over the summer.

"Ready to go back to the sitting room?" Snape asked.

When Potter nodded, Snape scooped him up and carried him back to the couch, where a tray of various foodstuffs and drinks were waiting for them. He poured the boy a glass of pumpkin juice, to which he added a dose of Dreamless Sleep. Knowing Harry's hands were still healing, and likely strained and sore from bathing, Snape conjured a straw and held it to Potter's lips.

"Drink," Snape said.

Obediently, Potter drained the glass.

"What kind of soup would you like?" Snape asked. "There's beef barley, ham and bean, cream of chicken…"

Potter made a retching sound and turned his face away, startling Snape.

"I can't eat," Potter choked out.

"Surely you are hungry," Snape said.

"Yes but... I can't… not after…" Potter let out a sound like a wounded animal and buried his head in the pillows.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Think of some food you like." _Something that hasn't been tainted._ "Something that won't turn your stomach. Malted milk perhaps?"

Potter raised his head. "Maybe," he uttered. "I'll… I'll give it a try."

Snape summoned a house-elf to request the item and, when the elf returned with it, Snape added two doses of nutrient potion to it. Then he took the straw from the empty pumpkin juice glass, put it in the malted milk, and held it for Potter to drink.

The boy reached out and took it instead, cradling it in his mending hands around the cool glass for a long while.

Snape had to bite his tongue so as not to snap at the teen for not drinking it.

Finally, Potter sniffed at it and took a tentative sip. Then another.

Snape breathed a sigh of relief. "Drink as much as you can. You need the nutrients."

Potter drank half of it and then handed it back to Snape.

"Professor?" Potter said, "Promise you won't leave me alone? They said… I can't… Just please… Please stay?"

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere, Mr. Potter," Snape said, watching as Potter's eyelids began to droop and he slid down on the couch a bit further.

"Will you sleep here with me?" Potter asked. At Snape's look of confusion, the teen added, "In this room, I mean? I just… I can't…"

Snape was stunned at how frightened Potter looked. Yes, the boy had been through hell, but what had made him feel so unsafe here at Hogwarts, of all places?

"I'll stay," Snape said, making a show of configuring one of the chairs in the room into a cot.

The boy was slipping toward sleep but even so, he made an effort to speak. "Please make sure your wards are extra strong and your Floo is blocked." Yawning, Harry added, "They are coming for us, Professor."

And with that ominous warning, Potter was out cold.

* * *

Snape didn't dare leave the boy. Instead, he requested Dumbledore's presence. He transfigured the bed back into a chair and seated himself to wait for the headmaster to step through.

"How is he?" Dumbledore asked.

"Traumatized," Snape said. "He is also convinced that the Death Eaters are planning to attack Hogwarts, presumably to retrieve the boy and me. Or perhaps murder us in our sleep. He warned me to reinforce my wards and close my Floo."

Dumbledore stroked his beard, glancing between the sleeping teen and Severus. "I would have said that Hogwarts was impenetrable. But then I would have said that Harry was too well protected to be taken."

Sighing, Dumbledore removed his glasses and polished them on his robes. "I must admit I had anticipated this possibility."

"Which possibility would that be?" Severus inquired, infusing his voice with a calmness that he did not feel.

"That one of you would need to go into hiding. Harry, for his own safety. Or you, for yours, if you were discovered a spy. I admit I hadn't foreseen the possibility of needing to hide you both at the same time."

Snape watched as the headmaster paced the length of his study. At one time, the thought of being forced into seclusion with Potter would have had Snape vehemently rejecting such a ludicrous plan. Now, he found himself rejecting the idea of _not_ being the one sent into hiding to protect the boy.

"Perhaps it is for the best, though," Dumbledore said. "Harry shouldn't be alone, and you can help him recover so he can be trained."

Snape's ire rose at the headmaster's choice of words. "He is not simply a tool to be honed for war," Snape bit out.

"No," the headmaster agreed, "he is much more than that." Dumbledore settled back into a chair. "Still, we all have a role to play, and Harry's task is not yet finished."

Snape cursed. The boy had been traumatized, yet all the headmaster cared about was using Potter as a weapon. "What would you have me do, Albus? Turn Potter into a killing machine?"

"Only what you must so he can fulfil his role," Dumbledore said. "And no more than that."

Snape got to his feet, feeling impotence and anger well within him. "He is in no state to be trained for anything at the moment."

"Yet I trust you will do your best, Severus, for Lily's sake, if not for the boy's," Dumbledore replied calmly.

Snape swore. Leave it to Albus to use whatever means necessary to get his way. "When do you intend to move us?"

"I think it's best you leave within the hour," Dumbledore said. "Pack what you need and I will have the house-elves bring Harry's belongings here. I need to make a few arrangements, and then I will have a Portkey for the two of you."

"As you wish," Snape replied, knowing that his own wishes in the matter were irrelevant.

"I will return in one hour," Dumbledore replied as he took his leave.

"Good riddance," Snape uttered after the headmaster was gone. Then he re-warded his Floo.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter is generally safe, HOWEVER, the last section details a post-rape medical examination, which may be triggering to some. Feel free to skip it and go on to the next chapter if need be.

* * *

Poppy returned to her quarters, exhausted from working on the Potter boy and worried for him. Cuts and broken bones she could heal, but psychological trauma required a much more delicate sort of healing, and one that took place over weeks and months, not mere minutes and hours. Mr. Potter had a long road ahead of him, and Poppy didn't doubt that Severus Snape did as well.

Poppy poured herself a glass of red wine and savoured it in front of her fireplace, contemplating what the future might hold. She rarely indulged in alcohol, but it had been a long day, and the two Hufflepuffs who'd come down with a case of dragon pox had already been released that afternoon, so the infirmary was empty.

Poppy sighed and stretched out her legs, leaning her head back on the couch and watching the shadow of flames flicker on the ceiling. She'd succumbed to a light doze when the alarms in her quarters sounded, signalling that someone had entered the hospital wing.

Quickly, she pulled on her robes, slid her feet into her shoes, and Floo'd back to her office to greet the newcomer, wondering what sort of illness or injury she'd be treating this late in the evening. She entered the dim hospital wing to see the legs of a student lying on a bed, blocked by two other students hovering over him or her. The students were wearing school robes and seemed quite tall: probably seventh years, then.

"What seems to be the problem?" Poppy said, making her way toward the small gathering.

The two students shuffled to the side, revealing the third.

And Poppy Pomfrey found herself staring down the tips of three wands pointed straight at her chest.

"Where's Potter?" one of them said.

"Tell us, or your dead," the other said.

The third, the student on the bed, gave her a cold, hard smile.

* * *

Snape carefully removed a vial of unicorn tears from its protective case and put an Unbreakable Charm on the bottle before laying it carefully in a velvet-lined traveling case next to two vials of essence of dittany and one vial of powdered trout. He was in his private laboratory, packing the last of his potions ingredients for the safe house. He'd already gathered all of his other essentials, as well as Potter's belongings, and the many healing potions that Potter required. They were all shrunk down and ready to go, laid out on the coffee table in front of the sofa where Potter slept. The headmaster would be sending them off in thirty minutes, which should give him plenty of time to pack what he needed for an extended stay. If he had all of the base ingredients and equipment, he'd be able to brew anything they might need while they were away.

The traveling case now filled, he snapped the clasps shut and warded it before setting it aside. He picked up another empty case and nearly dropped it when Dumbledore appeared in the doorway.

"It's time to go," Dumbledore said holding out what looked to be a bottle of butterbeer.

Snape frowned. Dumbledore was early. "I'm almost finished packing…"

"Take the boy and go," Dumbledore demanded, his words brooking no argument. "I can send along whatever you are missing later."

Snape grabbed the travel case of potions off the bench and hurried with Dumbledore to where Potter lay asleep.

"What has happened?" Snape asked.

"Poppy was found unconscious in the hospital wing. She'd been Stupefied and Obliviated."

Snape felt his mouth go dry. "When?"

"She was found five minutes ago," Dumbledore said, his expression grave.

Snape swore. "And the perpetrators?" Snape asked as he shrank down the traveling case and shoved it, along with the other shrunken pile of his and Potter's belongings, into his pockets.

"The castle is being searched as we speak."

Snape scooped Potter up into his arms, taking hold of the Portkeyed bottle.

"Keep him safe, Severus," Dumbledore said, his eyes shining with emotion. Then Dumbledore touched his wand to the bottle and murmured, "Portus."

Snape held Potter tightly as Dumbledore and his quarters vanished before his eyes.

* * *

Harry awoke in darkness, pain skating across his nerves like a million sharp blades. Instinctively, he curled into a ball, relieved, at least, that he was no longer restrained. Still, his heart raced and his mouth flooded with a copper tang. Unable to help it, he leaned over the side of the bed and retched repeatedly, achieving nothing more than a bit of spittle and horrendously painful dry heaves that had him keening in pain and wrapping his arms around his middle.

When something wet and cold touched his forehead he cried out, jerking away. He huddled into himself, his body recoiling in horror and agony. "Don't touch me!" he rasped. "Get away from me!"

"Mr. Potter, it is I. Professor Snape. I'm not going to hurt you."

Harry let out a sound like a wounded animal and buried his head in the pillow, fighting back tears of pain and confusion and relief.

"It's time for your next dose of potions. I suspect it's the pain that woke you."

Harry shuddered. "Everything hurts," he admitted, his voice muffled against the pillow.

"Drink this, it will help with the pain."

Harry turned his head towards Snape's voice and felt a cool vial against his lips. He drank.

"I have a few others here that will help with inflammation and infection, as well as one for nerve spasms. And something to quiet your stomach as well."

Harry took a breath, absorbing Snape's calming words, his deep reassuring voice. He wanted to crawl inside that voice, get lost in it; he wanted the feeling of terror and panic to go away. He forced himself to drink each vial before burying his face in his hands.

Snape must have realized a bit of what Harry was feeling because he said, "You're safe here."

"Nowhere is safe," Harry mumbled.

"Mr. Potter, look at me."

Harry tried to get a handle on himself, tried to rein in the growing terror and dread, the feeling of walls closing in on him, of hands reaching for him, grabbing him, hurting him.

"Potter!"

"Please don't call me that," Harry moaned. "Please." Trying not to remember, he whispered. "They called me that."

There was a moment of silence, and then Harry heard Snape's voice. Softer. A quiet entreaty.

"Harry. Look. At. Me."

Reluctantly, Harry raised his gaze.

"Tell me what you see."

"I… you…" Harry gulped, his breathing fast and shallow. He glanced around. They were in what looked like a large bedroom. There was a four-poster master bed, its hangings pulled open, the blankets and pillows rumpled as if the bed had been slept in. There was a small grouping of furniture on the other side of the room, a couple of comfortable chairs and a round table positioned beneath a large window with a cushioned window seat. There was also an antique-looking roll top desk, a small fireplace, and the single bed that Harry was currently occupying.

And Snape. Who was studying him. And waiting for his response.

"Where are we, sir?"

"We are in a safe house. Far from Hogwarts. Far from England, actually. You are safe here."

Harry glanced at the fireplace.

"We arrived by Portkey last night at the headmaster's insistence. This was once a Muggle residence. It is not connected to any Floo network, nor has it ever been. It is unplottable, untraceable, and invisible to wizards and Muggles alike. It is highly warded. Albus Dumbledore is the secret keeper," Snape paused before adding, "You are safe here, Mr. Po– Harry."

Harry looked away. _Wherever you are, we will find you._ "Nowhere is safe," he murmured again.

"Harry."

Snape didn't speak again until Harry looked back at the wizard who was gazing intently at him.

"Do you trust me?" Snape asked.

"Nowhere is safe, nowhere is safe, nowhere is..."

"HARRY!"

Harry bit his tongue, glanced up.

"Do you trust me?"

"I… yes… yes, I trust you."

"Then believe me. We are the only two here and you are safe. I will keep you safe. Can you trust me to do that, Harry? Can you trust me to keep you safe?"

Harry swallowed against the rising tide of panic. Snape, who had been cruel and vindictive to him for years. Snape, whom he'd spent the summer with, getting to know. Snape, who'd protected him without him knowing it. Snape, who'd tormented him in Potions class. Snape, who'd bought him clothes and fed him and given him birthday presents. Snape, who'd cured him from a Death Eater's deadly curse. Snape, who'd saved him from the Dark Lord. Snape, who was complex and confusing and harsh, but ultimately good and honest and trustworthy.

"Yes," Harry finally said. "Yes, I'll try."

As the potions kicked in and his racing heart slowed, he loosened his limbs and rested his head more comfortably on his pillow.

"Good," Snape said. "Now, I have a cool, wet cloth here. I am going to lay it on your forehead, all right?"

"All right," Harry muttered. This time, when the cool wetness touched him, he didn't flinch.

As he drifted off to sleep, a litany of words played through his mind. _I'm safe here. (Nowhere is safe.) Snape says I'm safe here. (Wherever you are, we will find you.) Snape says he'll keep me safe. (Nowhere is safe, we'll find you.) Snape will keep me safe. (Nowhere is safe.)_ _Snape is safe._

* * *

Snape waited until Potter was deeply asleep before examining him. He hadn't mentioned it to the boy, but one of the potions he'd given him was a very strong sedative. Under Poppy's firm instructions, Snape needed to be sure that Potter was healing well from the Death Eater attacks at the "celebration" and he didn't dare try and do it while the boy was awake, lest he be further traumatized. He also needed to put on a variety of healing salves and thought it best to get these first few treatments done while the boy was unconscious.

Snape pulled back the covers and cast a warming charm around the boy. A quick whispered spell later and Potter was naked. Snape bit his bottom lip at the sight before him. Potter was so young, not quite a man, yet not much younger than Snape himself was when he'd foolishly joined the ranks of the men and women who had tortured Potter so recently. He cursed his youthful folly and all that the boy had come to suffer because of it.

This was another form of penance, Snape thought. Taking care of the son of a woman he once loved, a woman killed and a boy orphaned by half a prophecy he himself had overheard and delivered to the madman he served. That he had caused his own torments did nothing to alleviate his inner turmoil.

Cursing, he pushed aside thoughts of his past and debated how to position the teen so he could best examine him. He tried laying the boy on his back, but that wasn't working. Finally, he rolled the teen onto his stomach, propping the boy's hips up on several pillows and, with the light of his wand, carefully examined the damaged orifice.

Thankfully, it looked to be healing quite well. The puckered opening was red and swollen, but there were no outward signs of infection, no red streaks stretching away from the site of injury, no pus, and the area wasn't overly hot to the touch. He slid on a glove from the healer's kit and dipped his finger into an all-purpose healing gel that he brewed. It was clear and viscous, self-warming and numbing, and contained antibiotic and antifungal properties. Fortunately for his purposes, it would also act as a lubricant.

Snape slid in a finger, thankful that the poor child was unconscious. He spread the slick ointment around inside, feeling for any unhealed rips or tears, relieved to find none. He also checked for any bulges that might signify a hematoma or any other irregularities. With a sigh of relief, he removed his finger, thankful for the numbing ingredient that would be left behind to, hopefully, relieve any additional pain his necessary intrusion might cause.

Snape was immensely thankful that Potter's most tender tissues were healing well. Assuming the boy didn't develop any new symptoms or pain, Snape shouldn't have to check the boy again. Potter would have to continue on the rigorous potion regimen he was on, to reduce swelling and counteract infections, but the boy should heal fully in time.

His mind eased in that matter, Snape took advantage of the position Potter was in to rub a muscle relaxant and bruise salve onto Potter's buttocks, back, neck and shoulders. He also rubbed a healing salve onto the boy's shorn head, which had suffered numerous cuts and bruises as well. He used a charm to set the salve so that it wouldn't rub off on the sheets and then carefully rolled Potter onto his back, where he proceeded to rub the salve into the boy's chest, arms, and legs, careful not to get any in the numerous small cuts he had. He knew from personal experience how bad that stung. He used a gentler salve on the teen's face. Last but not least, he worked on the boy's hands and feet, which had been the most badly damaged. He smoothed a burn cream onto the bottoms of Potter's feet, followed by a deep-acting bruise salve. He did the same with the boy's hands, careful to work around all of the still fragile joints.

Potter's hands were badly swollen, likely from trying to use them too much. Snape was sure they must be quite painful. There was another potion he had that would likely help the pain tremendously, but he'd have to wait at least six hours before it could be used as it couldn't be mixed with the healing salves he'd already put on the boy. He cast another setting charm, used his wand to redress the boy, and then covered him up and went to see about some breakfast.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Snape spent the next several hours thinking about how he was going to handle Potter's recovery. There were the physical aspects, of course—the boy wouldn't be able to walk or use his hands for a bit yet. But more pressing than that were the emotional aspects. The broom Harry had been riding had just been ripped out from under him, so to speak, leaving Harry to fall hundreds of feet to crash land into cold, hard reality. It was more than a loss of innocence; it was a loss of one's sense of identity and place in the world, a loss of one's feeling of relative safety. Then there were the constant triggers and reminders. The cold sweats and nausea. The flashbacks. The nightmares. The trying to cope in a world that you no longer belonged to. A world that had been torn asunder and replaced with something much uglier, a cruel and merciless place.

Potter was only sixteen. Snape had to remember that. The boy had faced a lot in his short life, but Snape didn't think that gang rape had been one of them. Truthfully, Snape didn't know much about Potter's sexual experiences, if any. Rape was rape, regardless, but if the boy had no experience beyond what happened to him, that would complicate matters. He wouldn't have any positive experiences to balance what had happened to him, so that, somewhere in his mind, he could still believe that sex could be a pleasant, enjoyable encounter. Without that reference point, it would make future endeavours with partners complicated, to say the least. Snape knew that all too well from personal experience. He hated to see another messed up as he had been. Perhaps he could help the boy there. He hadn't had anyone to confide in; maybe if he had, things would have turned out differently.

In any event, they both had a lot to deal with. Snape needed to see him physically healed before too much else could be seen to. That meant making sure Potter took his potions and ate and slept. And with their being stuck in this safe house, with nothing in particular to pass the time, it would behove Snape to give the boy a schedule to follow. That last thing Potter needed was endless hours to dwell on what had happened. A daily task list would give the boy structure to his day and a sense of purpose. Hopefully, it would be enough to avoid a severe bout of depression, which wouldn't be uncommon given his situation as well as their absolute isolation.

HR

It was well after lunch on their first full day at the safe house when an alarm sounded notifying Snape that Potter was awake. Snape set down the journal he was reading and collected the broth he'd prepared earlier for the boy and kept under a warming charm. Then he made his way to the master bedroom.

Potter was lying on his side, staring absently out the window on the other side of the room.

"I brought you lunch," Snape said by way of letting the boy know he was there.

Potter didn't even blink but Snape noticed that his breathing changed.

"Harry?" Snape asked, setting down the tray of broth on the bedside table.

Potter met his eyes only briefly—the teen looked haunted.

"Do you need to use the loo?"

The teen nodded.

Snape squared his shoulders. This was a conversation they needed to have and now was as good a time as any. Hopefully, it would get Potter's mind off questions he didn't have safe answers to.

"You are healing well but the injuries to your hands and feet were severe. Madam Pomfrey has taken care of them, but it will still be a bit before you can use them. Therefore, I will need to assist you." Taking a deep breath, Snape said, "Until you can walk, I will need to carry you. In this case, to the loo. If you are not comfortable with that, I can conjure a chamber pot for you instead."

Either option would be awkward and embarrassing for the boy, but there wasn't much to be done about it.

Watching the boy struggle, Snape took pity on him. "I wish there was a way to make this easier on you, but the only way past this is through it. After everything that has happened, I know you would prefer to do this on your own. Until that is possible, however, we will need to manage these things together." Snape smoothed down his robes. "I do not wish to embarrass you or make this any harder for you than need be. I will teach you what spells I can but, ultimately, some things will still need to be done the old-fashioned way."

"I understand, sir," Harry said, but his eyes had gone as dead as his voice.

"I promise that I will not harm you, Harry, nor will I discuss anything that occurs here. You are safe here, and you are safe with me. You have my word."

Potter sucked in a panicky breath and swallowed hard.

Snape wondered how many times he'd have to say the words before the boy believed him. He picked up a potion vial, opened it, and held it to the boy's lips.

"It is a pain reliever. Drink it slowly," Snape directed.

A short time after Potter drained the potion, his features relaxed, the lines etched into his face from discomfort easing somewhat.

"Have you made your decision?"

Nodding, Harry said, "Yes. The loo. Please."

"All right," Snape said, leaning over to slide his arms under Potter. "After this, you can have some lunch."

The moment Snape's hands touched Potter, the boy tensed and slammed his eyes shut.

"Eyes open," Snape commanded, wanting to make sure Potter knew who was carrying him and for what purpose. "I am not going to hurt you."

HR

Harry had woken to sunlight streaming over his bed. It had taken him a moment to realize where he was and why. And then he'd wished he couldn't remember at all. The horror of the memories made him want to shut his eyes and disappear forever. Instead, he was distracted by all of the aches and pains rushing to greet him. His hands and feet were the worst of it. They felt as if they were filled with broken glass, and even the slightest twitch or movement had him grimacing in pain. His bum felt tingly and he couldn't feel pain there. That surprised him, but he supposed Madam Pomfrey had healed him. He shuddered to think about that. He sincerely hoped that Snape wouldn't have to examine him there. He didn't think he'd be able to handle _that,_ not after what had happened.

He clenched his jaw, willing himself not to remember, not to cry. It was over. He was safe. _Nowhere is safe._ They wouldn't be able to get him here. _We'll find you._

Harry burrowed deeper into the covers, struggling to push the jeering voices away. He tried clearing his mind, wishing he'd actually tried to learn the skill when Snape had tried to teach him. But clearing his mind seemed next to impossible. He tried focusing on his breathing, timing it, counting breaths. He tried thinking about Quidditch. He tried thinking about his friends. He tried thinking about anything other than what had happened to him, but the more he tried to push the memories away, the more they fought to the surface.

Giving up, he stared out the window, letting the thoughts swirl through his mind, hoping that doing so would allow them to run their course and leave him in peace.

He heard when Snape entered the room but he didn't look up. The scent of soup wafted toward him and his stomach growled in anticipation. But food made him think of his time in captivity and he pushed away his hunger.

He listened to Snape's voice, trying to let his professor's words sooth his frazzled nerves. _Snape said it's safe here. Snape won't hurt me._ He repeated those phrases over and over, wanting to believe them. Wanting to fall back into his relatively safe life, the one before he was kidnapped. The one before… No, he wouldn't think about that now.

Instead, he focused on not fighting Snape when the man gingerly lifted him into his arms and carried him to the loo. He tried not to be embarrassed when Snape wiggled his pajama bottoms and pants off so he could pee sitting down. At least the man gave him privacy for that part. He tried to dress himself after, but his hands were agonizing and useless and he had to let Snape pull his pants back up for him. He hated it, but at least Snape was clinical about it, not making any snide remarks. He tried to remind himself that Snape had already seen him naked, but that was even worse.

He felt panicky and tense as Snape carried him back to bed but, if Snape noticed, the man didn't mention it.

Snape set him down carefully, made a nest of pillows, and lifted Harry into it so he was in a reclining position. Then he placed a hover charm on the mug of broth and stuck a straw in it.

"Thanks," Harry said. He wasn't sure how much he could eat, but he was immensely glad that Snape wasn't spoon feeding him.

"There is also bread if you'd like," Snape said, "as well as water, pumpkin juice, and tea." He set them all to hover within easy reach. "Eat and drink as much as you can, but don't force it. Your body needs to reacclimate to food. It would be better for you to have many small meals than fewer larger ones."

"Can you teach me the hover charm?" Harry asked.

"As soon as you can hold your wand," Snape responded.

Harry felt a sick swooping in his stomach. Feeling beyond miserable, he mumbled, "I lost my wand." Without his wand, how would he defend himself? And how was he going to get another one when they were trapped in this safe house? He couldn't just go to Diagon Alley and buy a new one.

"Harry."

When Snape didn't continue, Harry looked up at him.

"I have your wand."

"You do?" Harry asked. "But how?"

"It was recovered from Hogsmeade. It is currently residing in the drawer of your bedside table." Snape pulled out the drawer to show Harry.

"Thank you, sir," Harry breathed. It was the first good news he'd had since… since he'd lost his wand. The relief was so great it felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Snape nodded. "Now finish eating. I have some ointments for your hands and feet which should help significantly with the pain."

Harry finished the broth, ate half a piece of bread, and drank half a cup of pumpkin juice. His stomach felt full for the first time in days.

"I'm done, sir," Harry said.

"Very well," Snape replied, banishing the remaining food and dishes to the kitchen.

Then Snape took out a large glass jar from his robes and unscrewed the lid, showing the contents to Harry. It was mint green in color and it looked like frosting, all peaks and valleys. It smelled like eucalyptus.

"This cream has extremely strong healing properties. It is also an excellent pain reliever. It will drastically reduce the recovery time of your hands and feet." Snape pulled on a pair of gloves and swirled his finger in the ointment, mixing the contents as he did so. "I don't brew it very often, so it was fortunate I just so happened to have a batch on hand."

Harry suddenly felt very glad that the person he was stuck with in this safe house happened to be a potions master.

"That's the good news," Snape said, meeting Harry's gaze head-on.

Harry swallowed. "What's the bad news?" he asked, feeling a bit of panic edge into his thoughts.

"The bad news," Snape said, "is that I have to rub the cream into your skin quite firmly for it to be effective, which I am sorry to say, is going to be exceedingly painful. At least until the pain relieving properties take effect. I can only assure you that it will be well worth it."

Harry let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Do I have to do this?" he asked, fully expecting a telling off or some nasty comment about his lack of Gryffindor bravery.

"No, Harry, you do not," Snape said. "I would highly recommend it as I know how much it will help in the long run. But I will not force you. It is entirely your choice, and I will respect your wishes, whatever they may be."

Harry considered it. Had Snape criticized him, he might have refused. But Snape had given him a choice. And Snape was trying to help him. That made all the difference in the world. "All right," Harry said. "I'll… I'll give it a try."

Snape nodded. "Hands or feet first?"

"Hands," Harry decided. They were hurting the worst.

Snape scooped out a dollop of the salve and held out his mint-green-coated hands, an eyebrow raised in question. Getting the hint, Harry placed his left hand in Snape's gloved grasp and held his breath, waiting for the shock of agony. Nothing happened. Snape merely enfolded Harry's hand in both of his, letting the cool potion coat Harry's skin, offset by the warmth of Snape's hands beneath.

"Ready?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded.

"Lie back and try and relax. It will hurt initially, but then the pain will ease and your hands will go numb. Try and breathe through it, all right?"

Harry tensed involuntarily but nodded.

"I'm going to start now," Snape warned.

Snape's fingers moved to his wrist, thumbs pressing just below the base of his palm, fingers adding a firm pressure on the either side of his wrist.

It hurt, but it was tolerable. Harry let his muscles relax. He could handle this.

And then Snape moved his thumbs and fingers to the base of Harry's hand and pressed and Harry shrieked in agony, trying desperately to jerk his hand away. It felt as if his hand was being crushed all over again, bones snapping and bone chards impaling tender muscles and tendons, slivers like knives cutting through blood vessels and skin.

"Breathe, Harry," Snape commanded.

The pain crescendo'd along with his screams, sending him spiralling back to _that_ place. He was chained to the cold stone floor, naked, humiliated, unable to move freely. He thrashed uselessly against the restraints. Then the tall, burly man was there, speaking in a language he didn't understand. It sounded harsh and clipped, and the only word Harry understood was "Potter."

"Nooo!" he cried out, "No please! Don't! Stop! Please! Not again! Please!"

It didn't matter. The man wore thick, heeled boots that he wielded like a weapon. He didn't stomp on Harry's hands. Instead, he carefully placed his heel on each finger and ground it into the flagstones like a Muggle putting out a cigarette.

Harry felt his bones being snapped, crushed, pulverized. Shouts of agony were ripped from his throat. Sweat soaked his skin, his mouth tasted like metal, and his vision had gone grey with agony. Tears ran unchecked down his face. He arched off the stones, trying to get away from the pain, from that booted heel, but it was no use. His fingers were being destroyed, one by one, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He bit his tongue and tasted blood. When the boot came down on the next digit, his screams were hoarser, his throat sore, and still the torture continued.

He begged for it to stop. He begged for the darkness to take him. He begged for death. Anything to end the excruciating pain.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Snape sat with his head in his hands, shaken. Perhaps this hadn't been a good idea after all. He knew the treatment would hurt, but he hadn't expected it to re-traumatize the boy. He hadn't foreseen a flashback.

When Potter had started thrashing and screaming, and became unresponsive to Snape altogether, Snape had brushed the boy's mind just the slightest bit, not wanting to intrude and cause more damage. He'd seen enough. He'd seen the big blond German bloke. Seen him grinding Harry's hand into the flagstones. Witnessed the pain and agony that was playing out before him. And done the only thing he could think to do. He'd Stupefied Potter. It wasn't an elegant solution, but he couldn't safely use the sedative potion so soon after the last dose and it was the only thing he could think of.

Then, while the boy was out cold, he hurried to rub the ointment into Potter's hands and feet. Even knocked out, the boy still trembled, sweat glistened on his skin, and his breathing and pulse were rapid. A moan escaped every now and again—the body's response to pain. Snape knew it would dull soon, and then disappear entirely. He had thought it would be worth it. Now, he wasn't so sure. Hadn't he promised the boy he wouldn't harm him? And what had he just done, if not that?

He wrapped the teen's hands and feet in charmed bandages that would keep the magic of the healing ointment strong and active. Then he retrieved a warm cloth and wiped the sweat from the boy's face and neck.

Once Potter's breathing and pulse had returned to normal, and his face had relaxed, Snape waved his wand.

"Enervate."

Green eyes opened and looked momentarily into his before darting around the room. Then he refocused on Snape.

"Is it over?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," Snape said with a sigh. "Mr. Po– Harry. I owe you an apology. I misjudged…"

But Harry had lifted his bandaged hands to stare at them. "Wow," he breathed. "They don't hurt anymore. At all!" Harry wiggled his fingers.

Snape quickly grabbed Harry's wrists. "Don't," he said. "You need to keep your hands and feet relaxed and still for the next twelve to eighteen hours. After that, they should be healed, but for now, you must rest and let the ointment do its work." Gently, he laid Harry's hands back atop the blanket.

"All right," Harry said. "Thank you, sir."

Snape frowned. "Do you remember what happened?"

Harry glanced away. "I…" He closed his eyes. "When you… the pain… it took me back there. To where they kept me." Harry shivered. "I lost track of the present."

"You had a flashback," Snape said.

Harry nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Snape asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, not really, sir. I just want to forget it ever happened."

Snape really looked at the boy. It was disturbing. Having been starved, and with his head having been shaved, he looked like a prisoner of war. Sighing, Snape said, "I know you do, but that really isn't wise. Things like this, if left untreated, they tend to… fester." Oh Merlin, if he didn't sound like Dumbledore. Dumbledore, trying to get him to talk about the Death Eater meetings. Trying to get him to confess his sins in an effort to make him feel better—or so Dumbledore had claimed.

"Part of recovery is talking about what happened. Acknowledging it. Embracing it and then letting it go," Snape said. Such pretty words, Snape thought derisively. Dumbledore's words, in fact. And who the hell was Snape to be speaking them? He'd done no such thing. But then, look how he'd turned out. Death Eater, double agent, bitter and full of regrets.

Harry was staring off into the distance again, and Snape began to have some respect for Dumbledore, albeit grudgingly. Snape didn't much like being on this side of the table, trying to save the sanity of the Boy Who Lived, and having as much luck as Dumbledore had had with Snape himself.

Finally, Snape pushed to his feet.

"Rest, Harry. I have a couple of things to brew for you as there wasn't time to bring all of the potions that I needed. Is there anything you require before I leave you?"

Snape saw the fear in the teen's eyes. He hesitated, then sat back down.

"I'll be just down the hall, Harry. I am not leaving the safe house. More importantly, I am not leaving _you_."

Harry swallowed a couple of times. In a timid voice, he asked, "What if I need… something?"

Snape paused, thinking. Then he went to his bed, picked up the book he'd finished reading before bed last night, and charmed it. He returned and laid it under Harry's bandaged hand.

"If you need me, simply tap this lightly three times and I will be alerted."

Snape knew he'd done the right thing when relief skittered across the boy's face.

"It does not have to be an emergency," Snape added. "The potions I need to brew are not delicate. It is easy enough to pause them at any point. If you feel anxious or need to talk, or simply do not wish to be alone, do not hesitate to request my presence. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, is there anything you require before I begin brewing?" Snape inquired.

The boy was fidgeting. Clearly something was on his mind but he didn't want to say it.

"I cannot help you if you do not tell me what you need," Snape said.

Harry glanced toward the window. "It's getting dark out. I'm not usually afraid of the dark, but after…"

Snape took pity on the boy and quickly conjured a glowing orange orb. He set it to hang in the corner above the boy's bed. He also lit a couple of the candles in the room. "Will that be sufficient?"

"Yes, perfect, sir, thanks."

Snape nodded. "I will return in an hour with dinner."

HR

Dinner was much the same as lunch—broth, bread, pumpkin juice, and a nutrient potion. Harry ate what he could and drank the potions Snape gave him without complaint.

"Right now, the most important thing is for you to heal," Snape said.

Snape was staring at him as if he expected an answer, so Harry nodded.

"As I have already told you, I will give you choices and allow you to be as independent as possible given the situation. Thus, to ensure that you are healing properly, I will either need to examine you thoroughly…"

Harry shivered at the implication of Snape's words.

"Or you must give me your word that you will answer my questions honestly and will alert me immediately if you are in pain or any new issues develop. Which will it be?"

"I will be honest and let you know if anything is bothering me," Harry quickly said.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I have your word?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, feeling as if he'd just dodged a bullet. He knew Snape meant well, but the thought of Snape, of _anyone_ , touching him, examining him, especially _there,_ made him break out in a cold sweat.

"Very well," Snape said. "Is anything paining you right now?"

Harry considered this. "I have a slight headache, and…" Harry swallowed. "My, er, bum aches a bit."

Snape nodded, sorted through the potions on the bedside table, and helped Harry to down two of them. "That should help with the pain. As far as I can tell, you are healing well. There are a few things you need to watch for, and if they occur, you need to let me know immediately. Your word, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated.

"This is the time when infection may set in, and that can be very dangerous. Thus, if you experience chills or fever, we must increase or vary your antibiotic potion. In addition, if you have any discharge of any sort from your... bum… be it bloody, clear, white, yellow, green, or any other color, or if you notice an increase in pain or pressure, or if it feels hot or swollen, you need to let me know instantly."

Snape gazed at Harry intently and Harry wanted to look away.

"This is important, Harry. I know it is embarrassing, but you must tell me if you notice any of these things, or if anything feels different in any way."

Harry nodded. He wanted to ask, but he couldn't think of a way to do it.

"I can see you have a question," Snape prompted.

"Er, what about when I have to… go to the toilet," Harry asked, blushing.

"I have been giving you a stool softening potion along with your antibiotic potion, so you should not have any problems there. But if you do, you need only let me know."

Merlin this was humiliating, Harry thought. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss his bodily functions with Snape, of all people! Snape, who didn't look the least bit fazed discussing any of this. Well, that did help a little.

"Anything else?" Snape asked.

"No, sir," Harry said.

Snape pulled out a vial from inside his robes and uncapped the violet liquid. "Dreamless Sleep," he said. "You need your rest to heal."

Harry took it without complaint, thankful to have one less thing to worry about.

HR

Potter slept fourteen hours and, for that, Snape was grateful. He needed to get the boy up and moving and on a schedule, but that couldn't happen until the boy could get around on his own. The last thing he needed was the boy falling into a deep depression. Their resources were limited and Snape could only do so much. He was no therapist, after all, and if Potter spiralled downhill, they'd be in a world of trouble. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that it was only their second day at the safe house. One step at a time.

"Any complaints at the moment?" Snape asked. He'd seen Potter to the loo and through lunch.

"Nothing in particular," Harry said.

At Snape's raised eyebrow, Harry added, "Just some general discomfort, but nothing new or worse."

"Are you ready to see how your hands are doing?"

"Yes, please," Harry said, holding out a bandaged hand to Snape.

Snape unwrapped the proffered hand. "I am going to check your mobility. You should not feel any pain. Please let me know if you do."

Carefully, Snape moved each finger through its range of motion, then the thumb, then the hand as a whole.

"Clench your fist." Harry did so. "Does that hurt?"

"No, not at all," Harry said in awe.

"Good. Let's have a look at your other hand."

By the time Snape had unwrapped and checked both hands and feet, Harry was looking distinctly more cheerful.

"So, I can use my hands now? And walk?"

"One step at a time," Snape said. "First, you can use your hands, but sparingly. You may use utensils and brush your teeth, but no writing just yet and, when you aren't using them, let them rest."

"Can I use my wand?"

"You may, and I will teach you some spells to make life easier for you until you are completely healed." Snape removed Harry's wand from the drawer and laid it by the teen's side.

"As for walking, that is another matter."

Harry's face fell.

"You should not be putting your full weight on your feet just yet. I will teach you how to cast a Featherlight Charm on yourself so that you can make short trips—to the water closet, for instance. Each day we will decrease the charm and increase the weight on your feet. I must warn you that it will be a slow process."

"Great," Harry said sarcastically. "I hate being in bed all the time. Anything else?"

"You still need to rest. I know it is not what you wish, but soon you will be well enough to move around the house as you please. In the meantime, I ask that you refrain from leaving the bed any more than you absolutely need to."

Harry sighed.

"Was there something in particular you wanted to do?" Snape asked.

"I'd really like a shower," Harry muttered.

"Showers are out of the question for now, but a bath would be acceptable."

"Like last time?" Harry asked, not meeting Snape's eyes.

"Let me teach you some charms and then you won't need my help, with one exception. You are not, under any circumstances, to get out of the tub by yourself."

"How come?"

"While you can Featherlight yourself to the bathroom and into the tub before filling it, getting out of the tub would require you to put much too strain on your hands and feet. Therefore, I will need to lift you out. Beyond that, you should be able to manage everything else by yourself. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Very well. Pick up your wand."

Snape proceeded to teach Harry the Featherlight Charm incantation and wand motion until Harry was able to use it. It took a little bit for Harry to feel steady and balanced on his feet, but once he got the hang of it, Snape felt reasonably sure he wouldn't topple over anytime soon.

Once in the bathroom, Snape informed him of dressing and undressing charms that would relieve him from having to use his hands. To save themselves both embarrassment, they didn't practice them.

"Ready to get in the tub?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I just need a towel and… Oh! I forgot clean clothes."

"Wait here, I will get some for you." Snape exited the bathroom and rummaged through Potter's trunk. He selected a comfortable set of pajamas that he had secured for the boy over the previous summer.

He returned to find Potter, naked from the waist up, standing rigid, eyes wide, jaw clenched, gazing into the mirror.

"Harry?"

As Snape watched, the boy's eyes seemed to grow even wider, his pupils dilating in fear. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on the boy's skin and his breathing was coming in short, quick gasps.

"Harry!" Snape shouted. He had a feeling the boy was caught in a flashback. He didn't want to touch him for fear it would make things worse. "Harry, listen to me. You are in a safe house with me, Professor Snape. You are safe here."

Harry started to tremble. His eyes never left his own reflection.

"Harry," Snape said again, trying to get the boy's attention. "No one can hurt you here. You are safe."

In the next instant, the boy let out a bloodcurdling scream and started clawing at his scalp.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Snape blanched. He couldn't let the boy injure himself further. He grabbed the largest towel he could find and stepped behind the boy. He forced Harry's arms down and wrapped the teen tightly in the towel, Harry's arms locked tight against his sides. Then he pulled Potter back against his chest, wrapped his arms around the boy's trembling body, gritted his teeth, and held on.

Potter thrashed and struggled and screamed, kicking desperately at Snape's shins. Snape wondered once again if he'd made the right decision. All he could do now, though, was wait the boy out.

"You are safe, Harry. You are here with me, Professor Snape. No one will hurt you. You have my word."

Snape repeated the words over and over, trying to avoid the boy's flailing head and kicking feet, while still holding the twisting body securely.

Suddenly, Potter let out a strangled cry and went limp. Snape fell to his knees, Potter now a dead weight in his arms. He lowered them both carefully to the cool tile floor.

"Harry? Can you hear me?" Snape asked.

Harry heaved a deep breath and let out a sob. He curled in on himself and tried to hide his face, but with his arms still restrained, it wasn't very effective.

Snape was shaking from adrenaline and exhaustion. He was soaked in sweat, as was the boy. Now they both needed a shower. "Harry, I'm going to carry you to your bed, all right? Please nod your head if you understand."

Harry nodded.

In deference to his tired muscles, Snape cast a Featherlight Charm on the boy before lifting him into his arms and carrying the boy back to his camp bed.

Snape took the seat next to the bed, poured them both a glass of water, and downed his in one long gulp.

Harry, meanwhile, had curled in on himself, tears silently coursing down his cheeks.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Snape asked.

The boy shook his head.

"Harry, I know it is hard to talk about. I know you do not want to think about it. But trust me when I tell you that you need to," Snape said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "Keeping it all locked up inside will only make it worse."

Harry shuddered but didn't speak.

"You need to talk to someone," Snape said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, I am your only option. I promise not to judge you or criticize you in any way." Snape hoped his words might ease the boy, for there wasn't much else he could do but listen at this point.

It was a few minutes before Harry stopped weeping and reached for something to drink. Snape obligingly handed him the glass of water. Harry drank half of it and took a deep breath. "They shaved my head," Harry said with a hiccup. "I knew that, but seeing myself in the mirror… it just… brought it all back."

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath himself. He didn't necessarily want to hear this. He knew what Death Eaters were capable of. But as he'd told Harry, he was the only one here to bear witness.

"Go on," Snape said.

"They did… awful things… to me," Harry said with a shudder. "Really messed up things. I thought my uncle was bad, but… they made what he did seem like child's play." Harry drank some more water. "The mind games they played… threatening me with knives and hot pokers and… other things…" Harry swallowed, shook his head.

Snape wanted to bury his head in his hands but he didn't dare do it. Harry had to live through this, surely he could live through the telling of it.

"I was sure they were going to torture me to death… slowly and painfully." Harry hung his head. "Honestly, it got to the point where I wanted them to kill me. I just wanted the pain to end."

Snape clenched his jaw against the rage that welled inside of him. It was a good thing the Dark Lord knew he was a traitor, because Snape didn't know how he could return to that circle of hell and play the good little Death Eater knowing what they'd done to the aching boy before him. A boy that had been taught to equate touch with pain, having the most basic human comfort twisted into something evil such that even that was not an option for comforting Harry at the moment. Not that Snape was any good at giving comfort; he relied on potions for such things. But no potion in the world could heal the trauma of what Potter had been through.

He opened his mouth to respond but, as if thinking of the Dark Lord had summoned the bastard, intense, burning pain shot through Snape's forearm. He shouted and tried to fight against the torment. This was much more than a summons—this was rage and vengeance and punishment all wrapped into one. It was unlike any agony he'd felt before. He felt like his arm was being eviscerated. It suddenly occurred to him what the Dark Lord was doing.

"No!" he screamed. "NO! NO! NO!" He rocked forward. He'd seen the Dark Lord do this once before. How could he have forgotten? It had been many years ago, right after Snape had joined. A follower had been captured and had given up some of the Dark Lord's secrets. So angry was the Dark Lord that he'd actually used the man's Dark Mark to torture him to death.

Snape felt himself slip to the floor. He heard screams, vaguely thought they might have been his own, but nothing could penetrate the excruciating, blinding pain that was eating him alive, starting with his arm. He curled in on himself, sweating, shaking, retching. He needed to fight this. He needed to stay alive for the boy. He couldn't abandon him now as every other adult had. He had to help Potter. Harry. He had to…

Panting and keening, he felt darkness close in around the edges. He needed to resist, but he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. His eyes were scrunched shut but he forced them open, forced himself to look at his forearm, to see if it was actually being torn apart. Through watery eyes, he saw the snake of the Dark Mark writhing over his skin, viciously striking, biting, inflicting unbearable pain that made his vision go hazy.

He tried to pull back his arm, protect it somehow, but strong bands locked it in place, preventing him from moving. As his world faded toward oblivion, he thought he heard the snake hissing. His last thoughts were: _So this is how I die,_ quickly followed by, _I am sorry, Harry_.

HR

Harry hadn't even thought about what he was doing. One moment he was telling Snape what had prompted his flashback, and the next Snape was shrieking and collapsing to the floor. Harry's first thought had been to wonder if the man was having a heart attack. But that was a Muggle thought. Still, the man's face had gone deathly pale, and he was shaking and covered in sweat, and still screaming.

"Professor! What's wrong?"

Given the level of the man's agony, Harry doubted Snape could even hear him.

Harry had long since slid off the bed onto the floor beside the wizard. He wasn't sure what to do. Then suddenly Snape had thrown out his arm and Harry saw the Dark Mark, the snake moving beneath the skin. And he knew. He grabbed Snape's arm when the man would have pulled it back and began to speak to the snake in Parseltongue.

At first, the snake didn't want to listen. It was being driven to attack by Voldemort's anger and vengeance. Torn between Voldemort's orders and Harry's coaxing, the snake finally started to waver. Harry persisted, explaining that its other master was a kingsnake—a huge, evil snake that was using this smaller snake to do his bidding. And once the little snake was no longer useful, the kingsnake would devour it.

Harry assured the smaller snake that it would always be useful to the man whose arm it inhabited. That this man was a good man, and that he would appreciate the snake. He would not let the kingsnake harm the little snake. And neither would Harry. Together, he and the good man would keep the little snake safe.

It was a battle of wills that lasted much longer than Harry would have liked but, finally, he won the slave snake's trust. After that, it was easy enough to persuade the snake to curl up into a tight coil and go to sleep.

Extremely relieved, Harry set about trying to rouse Snape, who was lying on the floor, unconscious. When he had no success, Harry raised his wand, cast Mobilicorpuson Snape's unconscious body, and maneuvered the man to his bed.

Harry felt uneasy. He had no idea how much damage the Dark Mark's snake had done to the man, or if any of it would be permanent. Would he be able to use his arm? Would he even wake up? Would he be all right if he did? And what on earth would Harry do if he wasn't? Harry had no way to contact anyone outside of the safe house. Nor did he have any idea where the safe house was located. For all he knew, they could have left Great Britain altogether.

Then Snape let out a moan.

Quickly, Harry cast the Featherlight Charm on himself and crawled across the carpeted floor on his knees to Snape's bed.

Snape moaned again and tossed his head.

"Professor?" Harry called, kneeling beside the bed, but there was no response.

Snape's forehead was beaded with sweat and he seemed to be emanating heat.

"Professor," Harry said again, reaching out his hand to shake the man. Still nothing, but heat radiated off the man in waves that Harry could feel, even at his distance.

"Accio fever potion," Harry said, hoping that one would come to him. Happily, one did. But that raised the next problem. How to give Snape the potion?

Deciding there was nothing for it, Harry pulled himself up onto the bed, crawled over Snape, and sat beside the wizard. He raised Snape into a reclining position as best he could, pulled the stopper out of the bottle with his teeth, and put it to the man's lips.

"Professor, you have to drink this."

No response.

Just as Harry was starting to get panicky, Snape moaned again. Quickly, Harry dumped the potion into the man's partially open mouth.

Snape coughed and spluttered, but he swallowed most of it, his eyes fluttering but not opening.

Harry let Snape fall back onto the bed and sat next to him, panting with exertion. As he waited for his breathing to calm, he felt exhaustion sweep over him. He hadn't realized how tired he was. He looked longingly at his camp bed across the room. He would go there soon. He just needed to rest a bit first so he'd have the strength and energy to move.

HR

Snape awoke with his mouth feeling as if it had been stuffed with cotton, his head roaring, and his guts twisting. What in Salazar's name had he done to himself this time?

Groaning, he forced his eyes open and found himself staring at a single bed across the room. An _empty_ single bed.

"Potter!" he yelled, panic flooding his system and shoving all physical complaints aside. He pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the bed, his heart racing. His feet hit the floor with a thud. "Harry! Where are you?"

Something touched his shoulder and he jerked violently.

"I'm right here," a soft voice said.

Spinning around, Snape saw Harry lying in his bed, sleepy-eyed.

"What are you doing _here_?" Snape asked.

"Voldemort," Harry said, and Snape flinched at the name. "He attacked you. You passed out and had a fever. I got you into bed and gave you a fever draught, and I was going to go back to my bed, but I must have fallen asleep."

Snape's mind was reeling. He frantically searched his memories for what had happened. Potter had wanted a bath. Potter had had a flashback. And oh. His Dark Mark. Pain like he'd never known. His arm, his whole body, on fire. Snape glanced briefly at his forearm, more out of habit than anything, and opened his mouth to ask the boy why he was still alive after the Dark Lord's attack. But he got no further than that, because his mind was suddenly rebelling. He glanced back at his arm, and then gazed at it in shock.

It was impossible.

It didn't make any sense.

It couldn't be.

"What have you done?" Snape whispered.

"Voldemort had ordered the snake to kill you. It took me awhile, but I convinced the snake that Voldemort was just using him, and that you were his friend and that you would keep him safe." Harry explained around a yawn.

"How?" Snape asked, utterly stunned.

"Parseltongue, I suppose," Harry said with a shrug, as if this all was no big deal. Harry yawned again. "I realized that Voldemort was controlling the snake through the skull. So I had to convince the snake to leave the skull. Once I did that, the rest was easy."

Snape continued to stare at his arm in amazement. The skull was where it had always been. But the snake… The snake that used to thread its way through the skull's mouth… It was now curled up in a pile of coils on his inner wrist.

"Now that they are separated, Voldemort shouldn't be able to hurt you anymore."

Snape gazed at the boy dumbfounded. Potter truly had no idea what he'd done for Snape, no concept of the magnitude of it. At all.

"You are a wonder, Harry Potter," Snape breathed.

"'m just Harry," he murmured, his eyes slipping closed. "Just Harry."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It was no surprise the boy was exhausted. He'd somehow managed to nullify Snape's Dark Mark—something Severus still couldn't reckon—move Snape to his bed, get up on the bed himself in his injured state, and administer a fever draught. If the boy wasn't already asleep, Snape would have insisted he rest. And given that the boy had just saved his life, as well as any future torment at the Dark Lord's hands via the Dark Mark, Snape wasn't going to complain one bit about the boy sleeping in _his_ bed. Severus would sleep on the floor if he had to. Well, perhaps not the floor. But he could configure one of the chairs into a sofa.

First, though, he had to take a shower and make dinner. And ponder this new development some more. He felt an incredible lightness, as if a great weight had been lifted off of him. The mark had always felt dark, ugly, heavy. It always ached, like the burn of first receiving it—it never quite went away. He'd got used to it but, now that the ache was gone, it was as if he had a new lease on life. All thanks to Potter. Harry, he reminded himself. The boy's father may have been a right arse, but Snape could no longer deny that Dumbledore had been right after all—Harry took after his mother, _not_ his father.

* * *

Harry woke up in a tangle of white sheets on an unfamiliar yet comfortable mattress. He stretched and looked around. He was alone in a large bed, with sun streaming in through a couple of windows. He was not chained. He could move freely. He was not naked. "I'm safe," Harry murmured. _Nowhere is safe_. "Snape promised he'd keep me safe." _We'll find you wherever you are._ "NO! I'm safe with Snape."

Harry breathed through the panic, forcing back the terror. He made himself look around the room, the room in the _safe house_. He took in the seating arrangement near the window, the fireplace, and his camp bed. He was in Snape's bed.

"I'm safe," he repeated, over and over, trying to convince himself. "I'm safe. I'm warm, and I'm safe. Snape is here." _Somewhere._ "Snape will keep me safe." He debated calling out for Snape, but managed to resist. He wished the man would return. Even though it was the middle of the day, he still felt much calmer when Snape was nearby.

As if his thoughts had had summoned the man, Snape appeared in the doorway carrying a tray of food. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," Harry admitted.

Snape walked over to the bed and set the tray of food down on the bedside table nearest Harry.

"May I help prop you up?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded and let Snape shift him into a sitting position. Then Snape sat on the edge of the bed, preparing to charm the food and drink so Harry could feed himself.

"Where are we, exactly?" Harry asked, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Snape glanced out the window, a pensive expression on his face. "If I had to guess, I would say France."

"You don't know?" Harry asked.

Snape shook his head. "This is Dumbledore's safe house, not mine."

Harry swallowed. "What if something happens to you? What if I need to contact someone for..." He had wanted to say _help_ but the thought was so frightening, he couldn't force out the word.

Snape's expression faltered before he turned away.

When he didn't answer, Harry felt the panic in him rising. He reached out and grabbed Snape's arm. "Sir?" he asked, his voice rising. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Snape must have heard the panic in Harry's voice because he turned back immediately. "Nothing is wrong," he said, meeting Harry's eyes. "Now that you've fixed this," Snape said, turning his arm to show Harry the coiled snake sleeping on his inner wrist, "we have nothing to worry about. The Dark Lord cannot harm me from afar any longer."

* * *

Harry bit his lip, staring between the mark and Snape.

Snape knew he needed to distract the boy, and fast. Something shocking should do the trick. "Have I told you how amazing you are?" Snape asked.

Harry's mouth fell open. "Er… Are you sure that snake didn't affect your brain?" Harry asked.

Snape chuckled. "Positive," he replied. "You are probably one of only two people in this world who could have removed the threat of the Dark Mark. I do not believe I can ever thank you enough… Harry."

Harry blushed. "It was nothing," he murmured, looking away.

"It was much more than nothing to me," Snape replied.

Snape allowed himself to relax minutely at having successfully side-tracked Harry, at least for the moment. He felt a slight twinge of guilt, both for preying on Harry's weakness for praise and acceptance, and for avoiding Potter's question, but he'd think on those things later. The boy could certainly use some positive words to hang onto, and the last thing Snape wanted to do was worry him more about the possibility of another adult abandoning him. And he most certainly didn't want to let the boy know how disconcerted Harry's query had made him.

The thought that Voldemort could have killed him through his Dark Mark, leaving Harry entirely alone and even more traumatized, had been haunting him since he'd woken up beside the boy earlier that day. What was Harry supposed to do if something happened to Snape? Would Dumbledore be stopping by to check on them? Shouldn't Dumbledore have left an emergency Portkey to a secondary safe house in case of emergency?

Snape was perfectly confident he could keep Harry safe _as long as he was alive_. Having just narrowly escaped a fatal attack on his person, he'd come to see the many potential flaws of their enforced captivity. He would have to work out a plan before the boy asked again. In the meantime, he needed to stay focused.

Harry still seemed to be contemplating the incongruous fact that Snape had paid him an over-the-top compliment. Better that than worrying about being stranded here alone, Snape reasoned.

"Do I still need the nutrient potion?" Harry asked as he drank the slightly thicker beef broth through the straw.

"You will require it until you are able to eat solid foods," Snape said.

Potter grimaced.

"While we are on the subject of potions, do you have any discomfort or other physical symptoms to report?"

"No," Harry said. "I think I am healing well. But I was hoping I might ask you for a couple of favors?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I would still like to take a bath," Harry said, and then worried his lower lip.

"And?" Snape prompted.

"And," Harry said, pausing for a moment, "do you think you could brew a potion to make my hair grow back faster?"

Harry was looking at him so earnestly and with so much hope in his eyes that Snape had to look away momentarily. It was such a simple request.

"On one condition," Snape said. "You help me brew the potion."

Harry looked surprised. "You trust me to help you?" Harry asked.

Snape quirked his lips. "As they say, ' _On your head, be it_.'"

Snape saw the briefest hint of a smile touch the teen's lips.

"You do have a sense of humor after all," Harry said.

Snape merely cocked an eyebrow in response. "Would you like some bread?"

Harry nodded and Snape tore the bread into pieces to make it easier for Harry to pick up with his healing fingers.

Once Harry had finished eating, Snape spoke again. "Bath and then bed, I think."

"I'm not all that tired, sir," Harry said.

"By the time you are done with the bath, you will be," Snape assured him.

* * *

Snape supervised as Harry made his way back from the bath to his camp bed and settled between the sheets. Harry yawned widely. Snape handed him his evening potions.

"Any physical complaints?" Snape asked.

Harry shook his head.

"What about your bottom?"

"No, sir," Harry said, his cheeks flushing.

"You would tell me if there were any problems?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I promised I would."

Snape nodded. "I will hold you to that."

Harry shifted deeper under the covers. "Sir, do you think my friends know I'm here with you?" Harry asked.

Snape seemed to consider Harry's question before answering. "I presume you are referring to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley?"

Harry nodded.

"I would imagine that the headmaster informed them that you were found and are staying at a safe location. I am unsure if he would have revealed my presence."

Harry bit his lip.

"What is it?" Snape asked.

"There isn't any way I could talk to them, is there? Write them a letter or something?" Harry asked.

"I am sorry, but no," Snape said. "It would compromise your safety, as well as theirs."

Harry let out a long breath. "I understand, sir," he said.

The look of disappointment on Harry's face grated on Snape. The boy had been through hell, managed to break the connection between the Dark Lord and himself, and was stuck indefinitely in a safe house with his once-hated professor. And yet, he wasn't even permitted the small comfort of communicating with the two friends who had stood by him through thick and thin since he'd come to Hogwarts.

Snape sighed and looked out the window. Darkness had set in and rain splattered the windowpane. Potter's life, as well as his own, had never been fair; why should now be any different? Snape wondered vaguely if anything would change if they managed to defeat the Dark Lord and lived to tell the tale.

* * *

Several hours later, Snape sighed as he watched Harry curl in on himself after awakening from a nightmare. He'd given him Dreamless Sleep two nights in a row, and he didn't dare make it three. The boy had enough to contend with without adding a sleeping draught addiction on top of everything else. Hence, the nightmares.

The sound of a sob rent the air, and not for the first time, Snape felt woefully inadequate. Clearly Potter had been badly traumatized; there was no doubt about that. And after what had happened to the boy, Snape hesitated to touch him any more than was absolutely necessary, and never without asking permission first, or at least giving him some warning.

Snape sat on Harry's bed, a couple of feet away from the boy: close enough for Potter to know he was there, but not so close as to be a threat. After a few moments, Snape leaned back against the wall and thought back to a time when he was a young, frightened boy. His mother would take him in her arms and cradle him, rocking him back and forth, and sing _that_ song to him. The song that could make all the pain go away, at least for a little while. The song that made him feel loved and cherished, comforted and cared for. It was one of the few bright memories of his childhood, and one of the things he missed the most about his mother. Snape closed his eyes and, in halting tones, began to sing. It was all he had to offer the sobbing, traumatized teen.

 _"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…"_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

A/N: In case you've forgotten, this is a DARK story, with heartbreaking descriptions of TORTURE. Please be aware of this before choosing to read it. It gets much harder in places before it gets easier. But it is also interspersed with happier moments between Snape and Harry. Also, for those who asked, this is updated weekly.

* * *

Harry felt numb. Except when he didn't. He hung in the space between dull acceptance and outright panicky terror, and there seemed to be no in-between. One minute he'd be staring listlessly out the window and the next his heart would be racing, his body drenched in sweat, and he was sure _they_ were coming for him. And that was when he was awake.

He shuddered to think about his nightmares. He was amazed he hadn't awoken Snape again. But maybe he hadn't screamed aloud this time. He couldn't be sure. He certainly had been screaming in the dreams, which were as much bad memories as anything else.

He had indeed been exhausted after his bath the previous night. He'd fallen asleep quickly and had awoken sometime later, mid-nightmare, screaming his head off. Then Snape had been by his side, trying to talk him down, trying to reassure him that he was safe. Except that he wasn't safe. Not from the memories, not from the dreams that haunted him. Not from the people who were surely looking for him. He'd never be safe. And now, Snape was in danger too.

Snape, whom Voldemort had tried to kill through the Dark Mark. What if Harry was wrong? What if Voldemort found another way to get to Snape? What if Voldemort used Harry to get to Snape? Harry let out an involuntary cry at the thought and stifled it quickly. He didn't want to wake Snape again. The man had enough trouble without constantly running after him every second of the night and day.

Harry tried to focus on taking deep, calming breaths. He watched the flickering orange light still hanging above his head and reminded himself over and over that he was in a safe house with Professor Snape. He forced his eyes to stay open and made himself look around the room. A fire was banked in the grate and Snape snored softly from the large bed across the room. Not a cell. Not a prison.

He wiggled himself into a semi-upright position and implored the dawn to hurry. He hadn't told Snape as much, but the cell they'd held him in had reminded him much too much of his cupboard in the beginning. By the end, his cupboard had seemed like a palace in comparison. He shivered at the thought.

He tried to turn his thoughts somewhere, anywhere, else but the darkness was not his friend. The orange light above his bed seemed to shift to a washed out yellow. He'd been in the dark in that cell for longer than he could count when they brought him light. He'd thought it a mercy. They'd said nothing. They hadn't even beaten him or tormented him. He'd been so tired and so starved by that point, he hadn't even contemplated that they were setting him up.

They'd brought in a container that had a delicious aroma wafting off of it. It smelled rich and spicy. They told him it was his dinner. His mouth watered eagerly. Hunger had been eating at him for days, the acid in his stomach seeming to burn holes in the tender lining when no food was forthcoming. They had placed a white porcelain plate on his lap and then tipped the bucket over onto it. But what came out was not food, not food at all.

* * *

Snape awoke the second time that night to the sound of screaming. He rocketed out of bed, wand in hand, his body and mind instantly alert.

Harry was shrieking and babbling and hitting himself, all while flopping around on his bed like a fish out of water.

Snape rushed to his side and grabbed his wrists, not wanting him to damage his healing hands.

"Get 'em off, get 'em off me!" Harry screamed, struggling against Snape's restraint.

"Harry! Stop! You're safe! It's me, Professor Snape. You're not there anymore. You're safe. You're here with me. You're safe. I promise."

The struggling slowed, and then stopped, but the boy's eyes remained tightly closed and his body shook.

"Open your eyes, Harry. Look around. You're safe. You're here with me."

Finally, Harry's haunted eyes slid open.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he mumbled, mere moments before vomiting all over his bed, the floor, and Snape.

Snape bit back a curse. He banished what he could and cast a freshening charm, but the bedclothes would still need to be changed, as would their nightclothes.

Potter instantly curled in on himself and covered his head. "I'm sorry, please don't hit me. Please. I won't do it again. Please…"

 _Bloody hell_ , Snape thought. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Harry, no one is going to hurt you here. Not for sicking up, not for crying, not for wetting the bed, not for anything. I promise."

Potter stilled, wiggled his bottom, and then let out a howl of dismay, his sobs redoubling.

Snape closed his eyes, realizing in that moment that Harry likely hadn't realized he _had_ wet the bed. And now Snape had taken away any chance of Harry keeping his dignity in that matter.

"Harry," Snape said softly, reaching out a hand and tentatively stroking the boy's shoulder with the lightest of fingertips. Harry jerked away with a cry, and Snape immediately pulled his hand back. "There is no shame in your body's response, not after what you have been through."

The boy shuddered and made a sound of distress.

"I assure you, these are mere inconveniences, and very temporary. As your body and mind heal, these reactions will diminish. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

When Harry's sobs died down, Snape said, "How about we get you changed so you can go back to sleep?"

Harry let his hands fall from his face but refused to meet Snape's eyes.

"You are safe, Harry. No one is going to hurt you."

Harry's chest heaved as he wiped the tears off his face.

"Can you tell me what you were dreaming about?"

Harry made a choked sound and then seemed to force the words out. "Centipedes," he breathed. "Everywhere. They dumped them on me. Thousands of them." Harry made a retching sound and trembled.

Snape curled his hands into fists, unable to do more than just listen. He wanted to kill the bastards who had tortured Harry.

"I was chained up and I couldn't move. I couldn't get them off of me." Harry's breathing was coming in great gasps. "I felt them… crawling all over me… again… just now…" Harry's choked on a sob and shuddered convulsively.

"Harry," Snape said, waving his wand to light the candles in the room. Tiny flames danced to life.

When Harry finally gazed up at him, Snape said, "Take a deep breath and look around. There are no centipedes here. If there were, I promise you I would kill every single one myself. Or transfigure them into… stuffed baby dragons… if it would make you feel better."

Harry did as Snape suggested and then nodded once. Dropping his gaze, he said, "Sorry I woke you again, sir."

Snape reached out to take the boy's chin, and then stopped himself, his hand hanging uselessly in the air. He dropped his hand, but the motion caught the boy's attention. "It is just you and me here, Harry. For as long as it takes. Part of the reason I am here is to help you get better."

"Healing potions, I know," Harry said.

"Not just potions," Snape said. Snape bit his tongue, not sure how much to say, then decided to forge ahead. "I was one of them once," he said. "I know how they think. I know what they do. I might be one of the few people who can understand what you have been through."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said.

Snape snorted. "I am the one who is sorry." Snape smoothed down his pajama bottoms. "There is nothing you can tell me that will shock me. And if there is anything I can do to help you, I will."

When Harry nodded again, followed by a jaw-cracking yawn, Snape said, "Now, let's get changed and go back to bed."

Snape fetched Harry a clean pair of pajamas and some Calming Draught. He handed Harry his wand, reviewing the cleaning and clothes-changing charms. Then he left Harry to it and went to change his own pajamas in the water closet.

When he returned, he was pleased to find Harry sitting up and dressed.

"I would like to carry you to the big bed, if that is alright with you," Snape said.

"Where will you sleep?" Harry asked.

"As it turns out, I am quite skilled at transfiguration. The loveseat over there makes an excellent bed."

"Sir, I could sleep on the…"

"Nonsense," Snape said. "Now, may I carry you?"

Harry nodded and wrapped an arm around Snape's neck and shoulders to help relieve some of his weight. Snape laid him in the large bed and covered him up. "Get some sleep, Harry. I will be right here if you need me."

Then Snape banished the sheets from Harry's camp bed, as well as their soiled pajamas, to the washing machine. He floated the orange ball of light over to where Harry lay, transfigured the couch, and extinguished the rest of the candles. Just as he was about to slide between the covers, he heard Harry mumble something.

"What was that?" Snape asked.

"Sir, I'm sorry to ask… but…"

There was a catch in Harry's voice that hurt to hear. Snape returned to the large bed, sitting on an edge of the mattress near Harry. "What is it?" Snape asked.

"Could you…" Harry swallowed, and Snape knew that, whatever it was, it was hard for him to ask. "Could you sing to me again? Please? It… helped… last time."

"Of course," Snape said.

Snape cleared his throat, thought of his mother, and began to sing. He sang softly until Harry's shoulders relaxed, his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep. He sang a little longer, until his own knotted muscles released their tight hold, before allowing himself to reclaim his temporary bed and find sleep himself.

* * *

Morning on the third day at the safe house came far too early. Snape forced himself to get up and start coffee and breakfast. He also did the previous night's laundry and remade Harry's camp bed while the boy slept. Once Harry was better, he'd assign him some of the house chores. In the meantime, he was sorely missing Hogwarts' house-elves.

When he'd finished that morning's chores, he returned to the bedroom with Harry's breakfast, warming charm in place. He had come to realize that Harry tended to panic when left alone and, until the boy could move around freely, Snape resigned himself to spending his time with Harry when the boy was awake, which should be more and more as he recovered.

The midday sun was shining in the windows by the time Harry stirred. Snape was pleased to see that Harry woke without panicking and recognized his surroundings immediately.

"Sorry about last night," Harry said.

"It is of no consequence," Snape responded. "Why don't you use the loo and come and have some breakfast. Then, if you are feeling up to it, we can start on your potion."

"We can?" Harry asked, running a hand over his now-stubbly head.

Snape nodded, pleased to see a small spark of life in the boy's eyes. He was equally gratified to observe the use of the Featherlight Charm and Harry's independence to and from the toilet.

When Harry returned, he joined Snape at the small sitting area by the large window and began to eat his porridge.

"Any complaints this morning?" Snape inquired.

"No, sir," Harry said.

Snape returned to his novel while Harry finished his breakfast. When the boy began to fidget, Snape set his book aside and turned his attention to the teen.

"May I ask you a question?" Harry asked.

"You may," Snape answered.

"It's personal so you don't have to answer, but I was wondering…" Harry glanced up at him, swallowed, and said, "why did you become a Death Eater?"

Snape blinked. Of all the questions Harry might have asked at that moment, Snape hadn't anticipated that one. But after all Harry had been through, it wasn't an unreasonable thing to wonder. He picked up his mug of coffee and held it in his hands, debating what to say to the fragile young man before him. If he expected Harry to be honest and forthcoming with him, he needed to do the same.

"Many reasons," Snape said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Do you regret it?" Harry asked.

Without hesitation, Snape said, "Every day of my life."

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

Snape set down his mug and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "As to why I joined, I was unpopular in school. I had few friends, and those I did have were all joining up. I had no stable home to return to, and the Dark Lord, at that time, was very charismatic. He preached of a world where we—witches and wizards, that is—would belong and where we could be free. Where our magic wouldn't have to be hidden away as if it were a crime." Snape ran a hand absently through his hair and sighed. "At that time in my life, I felt powerless and ill-used and misunderstood—a condition that affects most teenagers. Casting my lot with an enigmatic and powerful leader who seemed to be going places seemed very appealing."

Looking at his feet, Harry mumbled, "I'm sure my dad and Sirius didn't help matters any."

"Unfortunately, no," Snape said honestly. Continuing, he said, "When I joined, the Dark Lord wasn't the crazed megalomaniac he became. The new recruits were also kept well away from the dark side of the organization. By the time you were introduced to that side of things, you were in so deep that the only way out was by signing your own death warrant, usually at the hand of the Dark Lord himself. He liked to make an example out of those who _lost the faith_ , so to speak."

"What finally made you turn spy for the Order?" Harry asked.

Of course Harry would ask the one question Snape dreaded. "The Dark Lord threatened the person I loved most in the world," Snape said.

"Oh," Harry replied. "What happened to him or her?"

"She died," Snape said, wishing he had brandy instead of coffee to drink.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated.

"So am I," Snape said. Closing his eyes, he whispered again, "So am I."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"I will give you a tour of the house tomorrow," Snape said, leading a Featherlight-charmed Harry to a room across the corridor and down from the water closet. "For now, we will focus on brewing your potion."

Harry followed Snape, glad to be doing something of use. He knew he needed to rest to heal—it was only the third day after Snape had rescued him, after all—but lying in bed all day with nothing to do but think was wearing on him.

Snape pushed open a door at the end of the corridor and ushered Harry inside. "This is the second bedroom. I have temporarily made it into a potions lab to be closer to you. Once you are well enough, you may claim this room as your own and I will move the potions lab to the ground floor."

"Oh," Harry said, a mixture of fear and panic making his mouth taste bitter.

Snape was studying him intently. Harry glanced at his feet, biting his lip. Seeming to sense his discomfort, Snape spoke. "You are welcome to stay in the room you are in as long as you like. There is no shame in not wanting to be alone. Even I…" Snape paused and cleared his throat.

Harry wasn't sure Snape would finish his sentence, but then Snape started speaking again.

"There have been times in my life when I have not wanted to be alone, either." Looking away, he quietly admitted, "Even as an adult."

"There have?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded and directed Harry to sit on a stool.

Harry felt himself relax just a little. Snape had promised he wouldn't judge Harry. It was still strange not to be on the receiving end of Snape's constant criticisms and harsh tongue, though. Especially since Harry seemed to be giving the man so many fertile opportunities to demean him.

"Isn't there a spell to make hair grow?" Harry asked.

"There is," Snape replied. "But you asked for a potion."

Harry frowned. Did it really matter what method they used?

As if he knew what Harry was thinking, Snape said, "As we are no longer at Hogwarts, it will be my job to continue your education. What better place to start than brewing a potion that you have a vested interest in?"

"What if I fail, sir?"

"You will not fail," Snape said.

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"Because I will not let you," Snape replied, placing a pile of tangled herbs in front of him. "Sort them according to length," Snape directed.

While Harry sorted, Snape chopped various ingredients, pulverized a few roots with a mortar and pestle, and used his wand to start a low fire beneath the cauldron. Harry guessed that Snape was giving him tasks that wouldn't tax his healing hands.

"Will it hurt to regrow my hair?" Harry asked. It was probably a stupid question, but the last thing Harry wanted was for an unexpected bout of pain to throw him into a flashback again.

"No. It will cause your scalp to tingle, though."

Nodding, Harry finished his herbs and looked to Snape for further instruction.

Snape handed over a bowl of greens that were decorated with red and white berries. "Separate the berries into two piles based on colour."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

They worked in companionable silence, each completing their own tasks, until all of the ingredients were prepared and neatly ordered. Then Snape slid both the cauldron and the recipe book in front of Harry.

"You will carefully follow these written instructions," Snape said sternly. "If you have any questions or do not understand something, you will ask me to clarify. You will _not_ make assumptions. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. There was some perverse comfort in Snape reverting to strict professor mode. It made Harry feel, at least temporarily, as if things were as they had once been.

Harry managed to only need clarification once, and he'd almost made it through the whole potion without messing up. When Snape stilled Harry's hand, stopping him from adding too much of the second-to-last ingredient, Snape's dismissal was not as sharp as it could have been.

"Clearly you have reached your potential for today," Snape said. "Off to bed with you. I will finish this."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. He had been doing fairly well but the exhaustion that overcame him was both sudden and overwhelming. When he stumbled getting off his stool, Snape caught him by the elbow and insisted on walking him back to bed.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, crawling beneath his covers. Snape said something in response but Harry was drifting toward sleep and couldn't make out the words.

When Harry awoke a couple of hours later, Snape was setting a tray of lunch on his bedside table. There was also a pot of forest-green goo giving off a combined scent of mint and lavender.

Harry pushed himself up in bed. "Is that the hair-growing potion?"

"It is," Snape replied. "It needs to be applied topically. Eat your lunch first."

Diligently, Harry dug into the soup and bread. The broth was thicker now, and no longer clear, as if Snape had added vegetables and run it through a blender. Harry was thankful for the lack of chunks.

When he had eaten and drunk his fill, Snape banished the tray to kitchen.

"Would you mind if I applied the potion? I would rather you not strain your hands," Snape said.

"That's fine," Harry said.

Nodding, Snape slid gloves onto his hands and picked up the glass jar. Then he handed Harry a mirror.

Harry grasped it but Snape didn't let go.

"It would be preferable for you to watch, if you think you are able," Snape said.

"It's alright. I can watch now."

Snape let Harry take possession of the mirror. Then he dipped his gloved fingers into the viscous green ointment. "I will apply the potion in layers. It works by stimulating the hair follicles. The more potion I apply, the more your hair will grow." Snape rubbed his hands together, spreading the potion out over his fingers and palms. "You will need to tell me when to stop so it does not grow longer than you would like."

"I just want it long enough to cover my scar," Harry said automatically.

"Very well," Snape replied. Holding his hands near Harry's head, he asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Harry said.

Snape placed his hands on Harry's scalp and began massaging in the potion. It felt cool on his skin and sent a shiver through his body.

"All right?" Snape asked, pausing momentarily.

"Fine," Harry replied. "It's just cold."

Harry watched in the mirror as the tiny black stubble that had sprouted on his head grew longer. Snape continued to apply the potion in layers until a half-inch of black hair stood out all around his head.

"Would that work on other places on your body? Like your face or chest?" Harry asked.

"It would," Snape replied. "In my year, a boy in Ravenclaw used it to grow a beard that reached the floor."

"Oh," Harry said. "It sounds like it could be dangerous."

"In the wrong hands, it can be. Mr. Fred and Mr. George Weasley, for instance."

"Did they use it?" Harry asked.

"Not that I know of," Snape replied. Harry noticed the amusement that crossed Snape's features at the mention of the twins. He thought perhaps that Fred and George may have broken up the monotony of school for the teachers.

Shifting the mirror, Harry said, "Sir, can you only apply the potion to the top of my head now? So the sides and back stay short, but the front grows longer?"

"Certainly," Snape said, doing as Harry requested. Once the hair reached past Harry's scar, Snape raised his hands. "Is that sufficient?"

Harry reached up and ran a hand through his untidy black hair, relishing the feel of it sweeping through his fingers. Looking in the mirror, he smoothed out the longer hair on top so that it covered his scar.

"Brilliant," Harry said. "I feel much more like myself." Looking at Snape, he said sincerely, "Thank you, Professor."

"You are very welcome," Snape said, stripping the gloves from his hands. He capped the jar of potion. "Do let me know if you are overcome by a desire for a handlebar moustache."

"I'll wear one if you do, sir," Harry said cheekily.

A look of surprise crossed the professor's face, followed by the tiniest of smiles gracing the corners of the harsh man's lips. "Touché," Snape murmured.

* * *

Harry was sweating and shaking, his eyes glued to the fireplace. _They were coming for him_. He had his wand gripped tightly in his hand, his muscles cramping around it as he sat sentry on his camp bed. _We'll find you, wherever you are._

Ever so often, he'd glance to where Snape was sleeping. Snape. They would come for Harry, but they'd take Snape too. And they would hurt Snape. Snape, sleeping and unaware, wouldn't even be able to defend himself, much less Harry.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. His newly grown, unkempt, sweaty hair. _Breathe,_ he told himself. _Just breathe._ It wasn't working. Images of a hand, a lone hand, being dragged over his skin, the fingertips still warm, danced in front of his eyes. He tried to push the memory away, tried to hold on to the present.

His glance darted to the open bedroom door. Then to the fireplace. Then to the window. Then to Snape. Over and over. Waiting. _We'll find you. We'll come for you. Nowhere is safe. We will always find you. Wherever you are. Nowhere will ever be safe for you, Potter._

A log in the fireplace hissed and then popped very loudly, the sound startling a shriek out of Harry. His eyes were wide, his wand held in a death grip, as his lips moved frantically. "No, no, no."

* * *

Snape forced his eyes open and glanced wearily over at the boy who was huddled in the corner on his bed. _One more night and then he can have Dreamless Sleep_ , Snape thought, forcing his exhausted self out of bed.

"Harry."

Haunted eyes met his. "They're coming for us," Harry proclaimed, his voice hollow.

"Who is coming?" Snape asked, sitting down on the narrow mattress a foot away from the trembling teen. He reached out to gently and slowly peel Harry's tight fingers from his wand.

"They told me they would find me. They would come for me." Fear glistened in the boy's eyes, made Harry's voice crack. "They will never stop looking for me, never."

"Harry…" Snape began.

"They will take you, too," Harry said urgently, his voice rising. "They will chain you up and torture you. They will make me listen to your screams. They will make me…"

"HARRY!" Snape snapped. The boy was spinning out of control, paranoia taking over. "Harry, look at me!"

Harry's eyes were wild, his gaze swiveling around the room, his body rigid, as if preparing for a fight.

Snape opened his mouth to speak again, when Harry lunged. To Snape's shock, Harry grabbed his hand, enclosing it desperately in his.

"Please," the boy whispered. "I don't… can't… Don't let them take me. Please. Promise you won't let them take me."

"I promise I won't let them take you," Snape said, squeezing Harry's hand in return. "We are safe here, I promise you that. No one can find us here."

Harry's breathing had not evened out.

"Accio Calming Draught," Snape said, catching the small vial easily in his hand. Harry drank it without objection.

"Have you slept at all?" Snape asked.

Harry shook his head.

The boy looked miserable. He had that haunted expression on his face and he was still shaking and gripping Snape's hand as if his life—or his sanity—depended on it.

Snape glanced between Harry, still huddled into himself, and his own warm, comfortable, regretfully vacated bed. Coming to a decision, likely born of exhaustion and the desperate wish to get some rest, he cast the Featherlight Charm on the boy.

"Come on," Snape said, tugging on the hand that held his own in a death grip. He led the boy over to the large bed and gestured toward it with his wand. "In you go."

Harry looked momentarily confused. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he released Snape's hand and crawled over to the far side of the bed, slipping beneath the covers.

Snape got in after him, sliding beneath the bedclothes and settling on his back on his side of the bed. A moment later, he felt Harry's hand scrabbling across the mattress. Snape reached out his hand, allowing the boy to grasp it. He could feel the teen's frantic pulse. Snape frowned. The calming potion should be taking effect by now.

Then Harry spoke, his voice a hesitant whisper in the darkness. "The first thing they did was strip me and shave my head."

Snape stilled, listening. He wondered vaguely if the act of regrowing Harry's hair had been, in some way, an act of defiance on Harry's part against Harry's captors. Had this, then, triggered the boy's renewed fears?

Harry sucked in a breath, drawing Snape's attention.

"I would rather die than go back there."

The boy's breath hitched and Snape squeezed his hand, sensing Harry had more to say.

"Promise me that if they come back… if you can't stop them from… from taking me…" Harry swallowed and gulped in a breath. "Promise me you'll cast the Killing Curse on me," Harry said, his voice cracking.

Snape felt his stomach swoop with dread. That the boy could wish for death had him reeling. He rolled to his side to face Harry, an expanse of empty mattress between them. "What can I do to make you feel safe?"

"Promise me!" Harry demanded, his intense gaze lit with an equal measure of determination and desperation.

"It will not come to that, Harry, I promise," Snape said.

"But if it does…" Harry pleaded.

"It won't," Snape reassured. "I've sworn to protect you, Harry, with my life."

Harry let out a sound like a wounded animal. "I don't want them to take you either," he cried.

"They won't. We are safe here," Snape said.

"You weren't safe from Voldemort," Harry said dully, his voice clogged with tears.

Snape cringed at the reminder.

"What if Voldemort uses me to attack you? What if we are attacked while we are sleeping? What if you get sick or injured? What if…"

"Potter, stop!" Snape commanded, frustration and exhaustion making his temper flare and bringing the teen up short.

Harry shut his mouth with a snap and turned away, but the boy's grip on Snape's hand did not lessen.

Snape forced the breath from his lungs and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm sorry," Snape said.

"For what?" Harry said, still not looking at him.

"For snapping at you. You have every right to have those concerns."

Harry dashed the tears off his face and turned back toward Snape. "I can't sleep for worrying," he admitted.

"I know," Snape said. "I cannot give you another sleeping potion until tomorrow. Is the calming draught helping any?"

"Not really, sir."

They lapsed into silence, Harry's hand still firmly encased in his own. Snape rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. How could he convince the boy he was safe? How could he reassure the boy of anything when he felt just as broken as the boy at times? What had Dumbledore been thinking leaving the traumatized teen in his care?

He heard a stifled sob beside him and rolled to face the boy once again. Harry was lying on his back, tears streaming down his cheeks, staring at the ceiling as Snape had been. Snape was just about to ask what was wrong when Harry began to speak in a hollow, monotone voice.

"There was a man in the cell next to mine. A Muggle, I think." Harry wiped at his tears. "I never got to meet him." Harry choked on another sob and stuck his fist in his mouth momentarily, trying to get control of himself.

Snape squeezed the boy's hand.

"They tortured him. Constantly. His screams…" Harry said, shuddering at the memory. The teen's sobs increased.

Snape gritted his teeth, wanting to kill the bastards that had hurt Harry.

"Then one day… one day…" Harry choked out, gasping for breath. "They cut off one of his ha… hands…" Harry's trembling increased and a low keening noise escaped his throat. "They used it to… touch me… all…" Harry swallowed convulsively. "All over." Harry's words broke off in a sob and he covered his face with his free hand. Then the boy curled into a ball on his side, still clutching Snape's hand.

 _Well fuck_ , Snape thought, biting his lip to keep from cursing. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? And worse, he guessed that was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to what they'd done to the boy. If they'd cut off a hand, he could only imagine what else they'd done to the poor sod, and how they'd used it to torment Harry. Snape clenched his jaw, vowing vengeance if he ever got the chance.

In a hoarse voice, Harry added, "I can still feel the fingertips being dragged over my skin."

Swallowing against the constriction in his own throat, Snape uttered, "Harry, I…"

Harry shuddered again, his sobs increasing. He looked up, the picture of wretchedness. "Could you… could you hold me… please?" he asked, his voice thick, his whole body trembling.

Wordlessly, Snape opened his arms and let the child crash into him. He held the young man as he sobbed his heart out, curled up in a bony ball, knobby knees pressing uncomfortably into Snape's chest. He patted the boy's back and whispered nonsense words. He'd had plenty of crying Slytherins before, but he'd never had to comfort them to this extent. A potion, a kind word, and sending them off with a book to read usually did the trick. If it was anything more serious than that, he'd send them to Madam Pomfrey who would either cure them or connect them with more skilled counselors as St. Mungo's. He'd never had to face this level of pain before—other than his own, which he was equally unskilled at handling.

After what was likely only several minutes, but felt like hours, Harry's sobs turned to sniffles. Harry pulled away, apologizing profusely as he scooted back over to the other side of the bed, removing his hand from Snape's as he curled back into a ball, facing away from his rescuer.

For reasons Snape didn't want to consider, he felt bereft. He lifted his hand to touch the boy's shoulder, but hesitated, finally dropping it. At a loss for what to say, he murmured, "Do you think you will be able to sleep?"

Harry shrugged, not looking back.

Frowning, Snape rolled onto his back and stared listlessly at the ceiling, listening to the boy's breathing, which alternated between sniffles and calm, but did not settle into the rhythm of sleep. He imagined they'd both be dead on their feet come morning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

A/N: I updated earlier chapters for inconsistencies and made one semi-significant change. When Harry decouples the Dark Mark on Snape's arm, the snake curls up on Snape's inner wrist now, not near his elbow. This becomes important later.

A/N 2: Rape and torture warning for the last section of this chapter.

* * *

The sun had risen before Harry had finally fallen asleep. Snape groaned. It was going to be a long day. Not wanting to get into an odd sleeping schedule, he woke the boy mid-morning. Harry was groggy but he didn't complain. Instead, he obediently moved to the seating arrangement near the window and ate the porridge and fruit Snape had set out for him.

Neither of them spoke.

Snape suppressed a yawn as he tried to get his bleary eyes to focus on a potions article he had found buried in one of the trunks he'd brought with them.

"Sir?" Harry said, gaining his attention.

"Hmm?" Snape replied, finishing the last sentence he was reading.

"About last night…" Harry said. "I just wanted to say… thanks."

Snape looked up to see the blush of embarrassment on the boy's cheeks. Not wanting to humiliate the teen further, he said merely, "I am glad I could be of assistance." Then, he raised the article again and made a vain attempt at reading it.

When Harry finished eating, Snape set the journal aside and gave Harry his full attention. "Any complaints this morning other than lack of sleep?"

"Er, sorry about that, sir. I didn't mean to keep you all night."

Harry looked chagrined and Snape took pity on him. This was only their fourth day at the safe house and Harry had been through hell. "I think tonight we will both take Dreamless Sleep," he said, making sure his voice was light and not accusatory.

Harry nodded and then said, "And no, no complaints."

"Good. Would you like the grand tour?" Snape asked.

"Yes, please," Harry said with enthusiasm.

Snape taught Harry how to reduce the Featherlight Charm to allow a little more weight on the teen's feet, and then led the way out of the master bedroom.

"You have already seen most of this floor," Snape said, gesturing toward the second bedroom, the water closet, and the bathroom. "The remaining doors are a linen closet and a utility closet."

* * *

Harry glanced around, studying the décor. It reminded him a bit of Privet Drive, but felt much more homey. Cream-colored wallpaper with inch-wide, pale-blue vertical stripes lined the long passage, with a staircase at one end.

Snape led the way down the stairs, holding Harry's elbow to keep him steady. Harry would have objected if not for the fact that he almost fell, twice. Once on the ground floor, Snape let him go.

Directly in front of the stairs was the front door to the house. To his right was the kitchen and to his left was a sitting room with a large fireplace that Snape assured him was _not_ connected to any Floo network, nor had it ever been. The sitting room looked clean and comfortable enough, albeit a bit empty, save for the sofa, two chairs, a coffee table, and an upright piano against the wall opposite the fireplace. There were no pictures on the walls or magazines lying around, no plants or mementos. As they walked through the room, he did notice a bookshelf filled with a variety of books and some board games, and wondered if Dumbledore had put them there.

Arriving at the back of the house, Snape pointed to large glass double doors. "When the weather is nicer, I am sure the back garden will be pleasant."

Harry studied the barren grounds and the frostbitten grass. A large plot looked as though it had once been a vegetable garden. Trees shaded the back; he wondered idly if they would bear fruit the following year, and then he wondered if they'd still be at the safe house a year from now.

Harry followed as Snape continued on, showing him the WC, dining room with a large wooden table and six chairs, and the kitchen, which had a cooker and a cold box.

"Sir, where does our food come from?" Harry asked.

"I imagine that the house is charmed to provide food when it is in use," Snape replied.

Harry wondered exactly how that worked but decided not to dwell on it at the moment.

"This was built as a pantry," Snape said, leading Harry into a room off the kitchen, "but I will use it as a potions lab. It will suit nicely. There is enough room for two stations so that you can continue your studies while we are here."

Harry bit back the groan that threatened to escape. But thinking of the lessons he was missing reminded him of something else. "Who do you think is teaching Potions now?"

"I do not know, but I am sure the headmaster will find someone. Horace Slughorn held the post before I did. Perhaps he will be persuaded to come out of retirement."

"Did you have him as a teacher?"

"Yes."

"Was he good?"

Snape seemed to consider his answer before responding. "He was a competent teacher. But he tended to favor certain students over others, which was counterproductive."

"And you didn't?" Harry said impulsively.

"Didn't what?" Snape asked, dusting off the pantry shelves as they spoke.

Harry bit his lip. "Favor certain students," he said quietly, afraid he'd said too much.

Snape laughed bitterly. "Of course I favored certain students—children of Death Eaters in particular. How would it look to the Dark Lord and his followers if I did not?"

"Oh," Harry breathed. "I hadn't thought of that."

"You would have been surprised to observe the joint Ravenclaw–Hufflepuff class. I didn't need to favor anyone in those sections. I imagine those students had a much more balanced experience compared to your class."

"So you were nice to them, then?" Harry asked, half-teasing and half-jealous.

Snape gave him an odd look. "It was not my job to be _nice_ , as you say. It was my job to teach and to keep everyone safe. Potions can be very dangerous, as you well know. I hold all of my classes to the highest of standards, regardless of their parentage or which house they were sorted into."

"That makes sense," Harry said. "I imagine I'd have done better in Potions if not for…"

"How I treated you," Snape finished for him.

"Yeah," Harry said, not daring to look at Snape.

"I daresay you will have your opportunity, then, as we will continue potions during our time here. I look forward to seeing what you are capable of."

Harry suddenly felt hot and dizzy, whether because of the pressure of having to prove that he really could do better in potions if given the chance, or because he'd been on his feet too long.

"I think I need to sit down," Harry said.

The next thing Harry knew, there were arms wrapped around him and something hard and uncomfortable underneath him. He shifted and felt a wall of muscle against his back.

"Harry?"

Opening his eyes, he looked up into the worried face of Severus Snape.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"You fainted."

"Oh," Harry said, getting his bearings. He righted himself and slid over to sit next to Snape instead of on him. "How long was I out?"

"Only a couple of seconds. Likely you overdid it. You haven't been up and around this much in days," Snape said.

"Thanks for catching me," Harry said, feeling embarrassed. He scooted over to put a little more distance between Snape and himself.

Snape nodded. "Would you prefer to return to bed? Or lounge in the sitting room for a change of scenery?"

"The sitting room, please. I am sick of being in bed."

Snape got to his feet and offered Harry a hand, which Harry gladly accepted. Harry didn't protest the hand on his elbow as Snape led him to a chair in the sitting room, either.

Standing in front of the bookshelf, Snape announced, "There seems to be a combination of Muggle and magical literature here. Do you have a preference?"

"I like mysteries," Harry stated. "Either kind."

"Have you read Sherlock Holmes?" Snape inquired.

"No, I've only seen it on the telly."

Snape made a sound of disgust, and handed Harry a thick volume. "The books are far superior to anything on the telly."

As Harry settled in with the book, Snape went to fetch tea and some reading material for himself.

* * *

Severus was standing on the outskirts of a circle of Death Eaters, his mask firmly in place, his hands clenched. He was sweating profusely as a feeling of sheer panic rocketed through him. He couldn't see what was going on in the center, but he knew it had to be something terrible. The screams—the gut-wrenching, heart-breaking screams—went on and on. He closed his eyes, wishing he could close his ears as well.

"Make room, make room," the Dark Lord was saying as he skirted the circle. Then the Dark Lord was smiling and pulling Severus forward, welcoming him. "Don't be shy, young one. See what pleasures await you. See what your reward is for being part of my inner circle."

The Dark Lord moved on and Severus was left standing with a clear view of the proceedings. A senior Death Eater was crouched over a poor wretch of a man, a knife in one hand, his wand in the other. The man was naked and curled in on himself, magically bound and unable to move, his eyes glazed, his mouth open in a scream as a knife carved something into his back. Letters. Words.

Severus fought against the urge to vomit. This was _not_ what he had signed up for.

When the Death Eater finished inscribing his message on the man's back, he propped the sobbing man up on hands and knees and Severus's eyes widened. _Surely, the Death Eater wouldn't..._ But he did, entering the man roughly, and without warning or preparation. Not even a spell. It was barbaric. Severus swallowed against the taste of bile surging into his mouth.

The poor man was writhing and shrieking and bleeding. There was so much blood. Severus bit his tongue to stop himself from crying out on the man's behalf. He wanted to shout STOP but he knew he couldn't. He was helpless to save the pitiable soul.

And then an even worse thought occurred to him. What if the Dark Lord wanted _him_ to do that to someone? How on earth could he do it?

He glanced at the Death Eaters around him. They were cheering their comrade on, encouraging him, enjoying the evening's events. Severus closed his eyes, happy for the mask that hid the tears that slid down his cheeks. He was only 19. He had no idea that this was what it meant to be a Death Eater.

The masked man next to him bumped his shoulder. It was Lucius Malfoy, who was a few years older than he.

"Maybe I'll get to go next," Lucius said, relish in his voice. "I always enjoy a good spot of torture, and this one is so vocal." Lucius cracked his fingers and adjusted his robes. "Ah, I hope the Dark Lord gives me a chance tonight."

Young Severus was trembling with fear and revulsion. Lucius had always spoken about the Dark Lord's inner circle with such reverence. So when Severus was finally invited to join, he felt honored. He didn't hesitate to accept—not that he could have. One did not say no to the Dark Lord. He'd looked forward to being one of the chosen few, one of the Dark Lord's most trusted and loyal followers. He couldn't have imagined the price he would be required to pay for his allegiance.

When Severus turned back to the scene in front of him, it had changed. The senior Death Eater was now Lucius Malfoy, and Lucius wasn't 21 anymore, but 41. His long blond hair fell in a curtain around his face and there was no mask to hide Lucius's expression of sadistic pleasure as he brutally raped the young boy in front of him. For it was a young boy now on his hands and knees, screaming and bleeding and sobbing. And then, to Severus's horror, the boy's tormented gaze swung around to meet his own.

"No," Severus breathed, his heart jolting into overdrive. "No, please Merlin, NO!"

Harry Potter looked directly at him, his shattered green eyes begging Severus to help him, to save him.

Severus lurched forward, his arms outstretched. "Not Harry, please not Harry!"

He tried to run, to get to Harry, but it was like trying to wade through thick melted caramel. He couldn't get his limbs to move with any speed. He reached for his wand but it was gone.

"Harry, I'm coming," he cried out, fighting against the invisible forces impeding his progress.

Harry's shrieks of pain tore through him as Malfoy finished and the next Death Eater took his turn.

"Oh God, Harry," Severus moaned. His leg muscles burned as he fought his way forward, inch by tortuous inch.

Now there were two Death Eaters on Harry: one in front and one behind. Harry was gagging and choking as blood, sweat, and tears leaked from his body.

They were tearing the boy apart.

"Stop!" Severus shouted. "Stop it! Get away from him! Leave him alone!"

But just as he couldn't get to Harry fast enough, no one seemed to be able to hear him, either. The Death Eaters who weren't abusing Harry were jeering one moment and fighting for their turn the next.

Severus was screaming as he fought his way forward into the mass of jackals fighting over Harry. Severus's wand appeared suddenly in his hand and he blasted them all away from the boy. The boy, who was lying in a pool of blood and bodily fluids.

"Harry," Severus cried as he fell to his knees and rolled Harry onto his back. "I'm here, Harry," he said, wiping the boy's face with his sleeve. "I'm here now. You're safe now."

Harry's eyes—usually sparking green with life—connected with his. For a moment, Severus saw recognition in them, and perhaps a touch of gratitude. Then the light in that precious gaze faded until nothing but an empty dullness stared, fixed, from the broken body.

"No," Severus breathed. "NO!"

Severus shook the limp body, screaming and sobbing.

"HARRY!"


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

" _Harry!"_

Harry was dozing on the sofa when he heard the scream. He jolted upright, his adrenaline skyrocketing, his wand in his hand. Sweat broke out on his skin as he glanced around frantically. He knew without a doubt that they had found him. They had come for him, just as they said they would.

" _Harry! No!_ "

Harry's attention snapped to Snape, who had slid down in his chair. His fists were clenched, his face contorted in agony. It took Harry a moment to realize that Snape was caught in a nightmare. Still Harry looked around, assuring himself that their safe house hadn't been breached.

Trying to fight back the panic that coursed through his veins, Harry made his way to Snape.

" _Oh, Merlin. Harry!"_

"Professor," Harry called softly.

" _Please, no, Harry. Please!_ "

"Professor!" Harry said more loudly, shaking the man's shoulder.

Snape jerked awake, his eyes wide and wild. He looked as panicked as Harry felt.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

Snape's Adam's apple bobbed repeatedly as he looked Harry up and down, his face pale and pinched.

Instinctively, Harry reached out to touch the tears that coated Snape's face. He'd never seen the man cry, wouldn't have thought it possible.

Snape grabbed Harry's hand and yanked it against his chest, grasping it with both of his. "Harry," he breathed. "Oh, Harry." Then Snape closed his eyes and turned his head away, breathing hard.

Stunned, and standing half-bent over, what with his hand held against Snape's chest, Harry sat on the arm of Snape's chair.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

Harry watched as Snape's chest rose and fell several times before the man let go of Harry's hand.

"My apologies," Snape said. "Please excuse me."

Harry watched as Snape got to his feet and left the room. He heard the door to the WC close and water running from the tap.

Feeling disconcerted, Harry sat back on the sofa. Then he thought better of it and went to the kitchen.

When Snape returned to the sitting room, his face was free of tears and he looked much more like himself.

"I made some tea," Harry offered.

Snape nodded and accepted a cup.

Harry let the silence hang between them until he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Sir, I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but… you were calling my name and saying _no_ and you sounded quite upset.. _._ "

Snape took a deep breath and Harry could tell that Snape really didn't want to talk about it. Harry had decided to let it go, when Snape's deep voice broke the silence.

"I dreamed about _that_ night," Snape said. Then he swallowed, hard, cleared his throat, clenched his eyes shut. "I couldn't save you." A deep, ragged breath. "You… died."

 _Oh._ Harry felt his own breath catch. If Snape hadn't been there that night, he likely _would_ have died. He quickly pushed that thought away and tried to think of an appropriate response. "Well, you _did_ save me. And I am very grateful for that, Professor," Harry said, hoping it would be enough.

Snape nodded, looking vaguely uncomfortable. His fingers played around the edge of the teacup. "I apologize if I frightened you."

"It's fine," Harry said. "Nightmares are one thing I understand. Are you sure you're all right, sir?"

"Yes," Snape said. "Perhaps we should see about lunch."

* * *

Snape felt rattled. He was not unfamiliar with nightmares, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd awoken with tears on his face. He had felt slightly mortified but comforted himself with the knowledge that his uncharacteristic display would likely help Harry feel better about his own out-of-control emotions.

"I think you are ready for something more substantial. How about scrambled eggs?"

"Sure," Harry said.

Snape prepared them with ease and efficiency. Even so, he found himself stealing covert glances at the teen, just to reassure himself that the boy still breathed. The sight of those dead, staring eyes, and the feelings of impotence and failure, would haunt him for many nights to come, he knew. If he hadn't felt protective about Harry before, he certainly did now.

Sighing, he plated the eggs and sat down to a late lunch with the teen, wondering how on earth they were going to get through this mess that had become their lives.

* * *

"One vial of Dreamless Sleep," Snape said, handing it to Harry while still holding one for himself.

"Sir?" Harry asked. The boy was sitting on his camp bed and looking rather miserable.

"What is it?" Snape inquired.

"If we both take Dreamless Sleep, what if…" Harry swallowed hard and looked away.

"What if what?" Snape prompted.

"Well, it's just that, if we are both drugged, we may not awaken if they… if they find me… find us," Harry said, his lip between his teeth and worry lines creasing his brow as he wrung his hands.

"Harry," Snape began.

"I know you don't believe me, sir," Harry said. "But they will come for us." Bowing his head, he said, "I know they will."

Snape opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. There was nothing he could say, no assurance he could give the boy, that would convince Harry that they were safe. If he wanted to get some sleep tonight, and in the future, he'd need to come up with something more than empty words.

He'd been contemplating an idea for the last couple of days, one that had potential as well as risk. More than the risk, he worried about it failing altogether. He couldn't be sure it would work and, if it didn't, he didn't want to upset Harry more. But as sleep was dogging his every step, he let his reservations slip away in favor of giving it a try.

"I have an idea," Snape said. "I am not sure if it will work, but it might be worth a try."

"What is it?" Harry asked, a shadow of hope flitting across his gaze.

"I want you to try calling that house-elf that is so fond of you."

"Dobby?" Harry asked. At Snape's nod, Harry said in a commanding, if a bit shaky, voice, "Dobby."

A moment later, a loud pop heralded the arrival of the oddly dressed house-elf.

"Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is happy you is calling me, sir! We house-elves has been so worried about you, sir."

The elf's many hats bobbled precariously on his head as Dobby babbled happily.

And Harry was smiling. One of the very few real smiles Snape had seen cross the boy's face since _that_ night. It was worth it having called the elf for that reason alone.

Dobby spun to see Snape. "Professor Snape, sir! Dobby is happy to see you too, sir! Dobby is knowing that Professor Snape is taking care of Harry Potter, sir. Professor Snape is a good and kind wizard."

"Do you know where you are, Dobby?" Snape inquired.

"Dobby is in Professor Dumbledore's safe house, sir. Dobby is here because Harry Potter called him, sir."

"Yes, that is correct," Snape replied. "You are aware, then, that you can tell no one of our location or of your visit here? This is essential for Mr. Potter's safety."

"Yes, Professor Snape, sir. Dobby will not speak of it to anyone. Dobby will not put Harry Potter or Professor Snape in danger, sir. Dobby is a good and loyal house-elf. Dobby can be trusted. Dobby wishes only to be of service to Harry Potter and Professor Snape, sir."

"Very well. I asked Mr. Potter to call you here because we require some assistance. We are both in need of a good night's sleep and it would put Mr. Potter's mind at ease to have someone here while we sleep."

Harry, who had been observing the proceedings, spoke up then.

"I am worried that the Death Eaters who captured me will find me," Harry said. "I can't sleep for worrying," he admitted.

Dobby turned his orb-like eyes to the teen. Gravely, he said, "Dobby would be most honored to guard Harry Potter and Professor Snape while they sleep."

"Thanks, Dobby, I really appreciate it," Harry said, yawning widely and stretching. He glanced to Snape and nodded. Holding up his vial of Dreamless Sleep, Harry said, "Cheers, Professor." Then he popped the top and drank.

Snape got into his own bed and listened as Dobby spoke softly to Harry.

"Harry Potter is safe here, sir. Harry Potter is in Professor Dumbledore's safe house. No one will be able to find Harry Potter here. Harry Potter is in the safest house in the world. Harry Potter can sleep. Dobby will watch over him. Dobby and Professor Snape will keep Harry Potter safe."

Snape let out a relieved sigh, content in his decision to call the elf. He watched the boy and elf until Harry had fallen asleep. Then Dobby made his way to Snape's bed.

"You is needing sleep as well, Professor."

Snape nodded and swallowed his own vial of Dreamless Sleep, settling back into the pillows. Before he nodded off, he met the elf's gaze. "Thank you, Dobby."

Dobby's beaming face was the last thing Snape saw before he slipped into sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The fifth day in the safe house dawned with sunlight streaming in through the windows and a light snow frosting the ground. The snow would be gone by midday, Snape knew, but it was enough to remind him that Christmas was less than a month away. He hadn't spent much time pondering the holiday, but with a teenager in residence, he supposed he'd have to give it more thought. If he were here alone, he wouldn't bother with a tree or decorations. Looking over to the teen huddled in the camp bed across the room, however, he thought it might prove to be a good distraction.

A disturbance in the corridor drew his attention. A large silver tea service floated into the room, nearly completely obscuring the server. All Snape could see above the tea kettle was a teetering stack of multi-colored hats, and below, a pair of mismatched socks. A moment later, the tea service settled onto his bedside table and Dobby poured him a cup of tea.

"Good morning, Professor Snape, sir. Dobby is making tea. Dobby is making breakfast for Professor Snape and Harry Potter when they is ready, sir."

"Thank you, Dobby," Snape said, sitting up in bed and sipping the aromatic beverage.

"Dobby is not being missed in the kitchens, sir. Dobby is happy to serve Professor Snape and Harry Potter, sir. Professor Snape is only needing to tell Dobby his wishes, sir."

"We can manage during the day," Snape said, noticing the elf's ears drooping in disappointment. "However, your presence in the evenings while we sleep would be much appreciated." Glancing toward Harry, Snape added, "The boy seems to need the reassurance at present."

After that short discourse, Dobby arrived each evening before the two wizards retired. While Snape and Harry slept, Dobby cleaned the house, did the laundry, cooked pastries, and did whatever else Snape or Harry asked him to. Come morning, tea would be waiting for them both, as well as breakfast, both placed fastidiously under a warming charm.

Harry's nightmares continued, as Snape had expected, but every third night, he was blessedly relieved to be able to give the boy Dreamless Sleep.

Outside of the interrupted nights, Snape had instituted a routine for the boy, including showering, cleaning up after breakfast, and then studying for two hours in the sitting room. Snape would then quiz Harry on what he had learned, answer questions, and assign or review homework as needed. There'd be a short break, and then lunch. Afternoons were two more hours of lessons, and two hours of practicals—which rotated between Potions and Transfiguration on even days and Charms and Defense on odd days—and then an hour for homework. Joint dinner preparations came next, and after dinner, Snape expected Harry to finish the day's homework and then spend the evening in leisure activities of Harry's choosing.

Snape applauded himself for this masterful schedule that would keep Harry busy and engaged, as well as up to speed with his peers academically. He envisioned Harry making great strides in his education, which Snape reflected—later—he'd been an idiot to expect. Harry had never been the best or most focused student to begin with. Add post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and paranoia to the mix, and anyone but a complete moron could have predicted what would happen next.

"Harry, you need to study."

"Yes, sir."

"You haven't opened your book."

"Right," Harry said, opening his book in his lap and staring down at it.

"You need to actually _read_ the words," Snape forced out through gritted teeth.

"Yes, sir."

Snape watched as Harry stared blankly at the page. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to berate the boy. "Focus," he ground out.

Harry didn't reply. Instead, his eyes drifted from the page and out the window, where he gazed listlessly.

"Potter," Snape shouted, slamming the Potions journal he was attempting to read down on the coffee table and pushing to his feet. "Is it that hard to…"

Harry instantly cowered, curling into himself in the corner of the sofa to make himself as small a target as possible, his Transfiguration text sliding to the floor with a loud thump.

Snape cursed to himself as he took a few steps toward the boy.

"Please don't hurt me," Harry pleaded, wrapping his arms around his head to shield himself. "Please. I won't do it again." Harry's breathing had turned ragged, his voice broken. "Just don't… don't…"

"Harry," Snape said softly, squatting down in front of Harry. "I apologize for frightening you. No one is going to hurt you. You are safe here, I promise."

Harry lowered his arms from his face. "I don't feel safe," he murmured.

"I know," Snape bit out, feeling equal parts frustrated and helpless. "But you are, nonetheless. No one can find us here."

"What if you're wrong?" Harry asked. "What if they do find us, what then?"

His legs aching from squatting, Snape cast a cushioning charm and sat back on the floor. "For the sake of argument and to put your mind at ease," Snape said, "I will indulge your question."

Slowly, Harry pushed himself back into a sitting position on the sofa. Snape got off the floor and sat next to him on the sofa, but not too close.

"First, this house is unplottable and invisible—to Muggles and wizards alike. For all we know, this plot of land we occupy could actually be a charmed illusion. We may be miles under the earth's surface or resting atop a forest of trees or hovering over the middle of a lake."

"Really?" Harry asked, clearly startled at the thought. "It that possible?"

"Yes," Snape replied. "But let us assume that someone manages to stumble near our safe haven. The wards would drive them away, inserting strong suggestions in their minds to make them remember something they urgently need to do or to give them a really bad feeling, making them want to leave immediately."

"But if they are Death Eaters," Harry countered, "they would expect that. They would try to break through the wards."

"The wards are incredibly strong. Professor Dumbledore cast the original wards, and I added my magic to them as soon as we arrived." Raising his hand to cut off the boy's protest, Snape continued. "The moment anyone so much as thought about casting a spell or forcing their way through the wards, the house would fill with alarms. Even if they _could_ break through the wards—which I assure you they cannot—it would take time. We would have more than sufficient warning and ample time to Apparate away."

Harry seemed to consider this.

"And before you ask, yes there are anti-Apparition wards on the house. The wards are tuned to our signature, so we can Apparate out if necessary, but no one can Apparate in or side-along Apparate out with us, not even Dumbledore."

"Dobby can," Harry pointed out.

Snape frowned. "Dobby, like yourself, seems to be an exception to the standard rules of the universe," Snape said. "Even so, Dobby's travel between here and Hogwarts is not technically Apparition. Apparition is a form of wizard transportation."

"So another elf could come here, perhaps one that worked for the Death Eaters," Harry said, his breathing shallow.

"No, Harry. It does not work that way. An elf cannot go wherever it pleases. Dobby was able to come to you because you called him. You gave him a direct command, an order, and as he is loyal to you, he obeyed."

"But that's not true," Harry protested. "He came to me at the Dursleys', when he was the Malfoys' house-elf. He wasn't supposed to, and I knew nothing of house-elves then, so I certainly didn't call him to me, nor was I in immediate danger at the time. He came to give me a warning."

Snape stroked his chin, rubbing at the stubble there. He'd forgotten to using a shaving charm that morning. "As I said, Dobby seems to be an exception."

Harry looked unconvinced.

"Do you know any other house-elves?" Snape asked.

"Well, there's Winky," Harry said, Barty Crouch's old house-elf."

"Call her," Snape instructed.

"Now?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded.

Harry screwed up his face for a moment and then his expression cleared. "Winky," he said, his voice a clear command.

They waited in silence for a few moments. Just as Snape was about to belabor his point, a sharp crack rang out.

"Dobby?" Harry said, sounding confused.

"Harry Potter, sir. Why is you calling Winky, sir? Winky is not being able to come. Only I is able to come to you, Harry Potter, sir."

Snape smirked. "Thank you, Dobby. Harry was just testing the strength of the wards and enchantments protecting this house."

Dobby turned his tennis-ball eyes to Professor Snape and nodded gravely. Then the elf made his way to stand before Harry.

"Harry Potter, sir," the elf said, more gravely than Snape had ever heard him speak. "No one is finding Harry Potter, sir. No one is being able to. I is the only one who can come here, sir. No one is hurting Harry Potter here. Magic is not allowing it, Harry Potter, sir."

"How come you can come here but not another elf?" Harry asked.

"Dobby is owing a great debt to Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter set Dobby free. Now Dobby is connected to Harry Potter. Dobby is able to find Harry Potter wherever Harry Potter is, sir, because we is linked. Harry Potter is only needing to call Dobby and Dobby is coming, sir."

"And no one else can come here like you can?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry Potter, sir. I is the only one who can come. Harry Potter is safe here."

* * *

If Snape thought the elf's reassurances would put matters to rest, he was mistaken. Harry still jumped at the slightest noise and constantly glanced out the windows and checked that the doors were Muggle-locked (as if any wizard worth his wand couldn't get through a Muggle door). The behavior was beginning to grate on Snape's nerves but he bit his tongue. Taking another tact, he began teaching Harry warding spells. This, at least, caught the boy's interest and motivated him to read the relevant chapter in his Charms book.

They spent one fruitful afternoon with Harry casting wards on all of the doors, windows, fireplaces, and cracks in the wall. Snape's feeling of success was short lived as, soon thereafter, instead of checking the Muggle door locks, Harry began casting revealing spells at the doors and windows to make sure the wards were still in place. Snape sighed and tried not to resent Harry's lack of trust in him.

* * *

Harry felt trapped. Trapped inside the safe house, trapped inside his head when he was awake, trapped inside nightmares when he was asleep. He felt the danger of being discovered pressing in on him at all sides. Snape and Dobby had tried to reassure him that he was safe here, but nowhere was safe, no matter what they said. And their being here with him just put them at risk as well.

He knew he was trying Snape's patience, but he couldn't help it. Part of him wanted to fling himself out of the safe house and run. Run anywhere, just away from this all-consuming, gnawing sensation that they would find him, they would get him, they would lock him up again, torture him, and… and… worse.

The memories raced across his mind, fighting for dominance, each one more horrible than the next. How was he supposed to function when he couldn't push them back, couldn't make them stop haunting him? It was impossible.

And all Snape seemed to care about was making him _study_. As if he could concentrate on his coursework. He knew he needed to keep up in his classes, as he couldn't attend them in person, but for the life of him, he couldn't dredge up the motivation. Classes and Hogwarts seemed a million miles away. He'd left that world behind, and it couldn't be replicated in the sitting room or tiny potions pantry in the safe house. Not to mention, the biggest part of Hogwarts was missing—his friends.

Ron and Hermione had always been there for him. They'd got him through the tough times. But he couldn't even talk to them now. What he wouldn't give to just sit between the two of them in the Gryffindor common room—even if they were bickering, or play a game of wizard's chess with Ron, or study with Hermione in the library while she scolded him for not putting enough effort into his homework. Without their presence, he couldn't motivate himself to do much of anything except lament the fact that he missed them terribly.

If he was honest with himself, what he missed most was his _former_ life. The life he'd had before he'd been abducted and tortured by Death Eaters. It may have been fraught with what seemed like one injustice after another, but those things seemed petty in comparison to what had happened to him since.

He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing wearily at his face. He needed to shower. He needed to eat breakfast. He needed to face Snape. Instead, he rolled over and buried his head under the covers of his camp bed. Maybe he'd feign illness in hopes that Snape would let him stay in bed all day. And maybe the Chudley Cannons would win the World Cup, too, Harry thought with a sigh.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Harry," Snape said. "I can't let you starve yourself, any more than I can let you stay in bed all day. You have to get up."

"Why?"

 _Because if you fall into a deep depression, I have no idea how l will get you out of it._ "Because it is not healthy. You need to live."

"What if I don't want to?" Harry breathed in a voice so quiet that if Snape didn't have particularly good hearing he would have missed it.

"Do you mean that?" Snape asked. He could practically taste the despair that rolled off the boy in waves.

Harry shrugged.

Snape stood up from where he had been sitting on Harry's camp bed. He yanked the covers off the boy. "Get up. Now. You are going to shower, and then you are going to eat."

Harry groaned and Snape was almost hoping he'd say ' _make me'_. At least that would have represented some defiance, some spark of life.

Instead, Harry dragged himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

Snape shook his head. He had to do something, and quickly, to break this cycle. His schedule idea had been overzealous and, loath as he was to admit it, an utter failure. Harry did best when Snape could find something practical and relevant for him to do—such as brewing the hair growth potion or adding wards to the safe house. He needed to figure out what else was important to Harry so he could build upon that.

Snape made his way back to the kitchen while Harry showered. Dobby was just plating breakfast, his precarious stack of hats now topped with a red and green striped one that had a silver bell on top. The bell tinkled whenever the elf moved. Staring at this latest addition, Snape was struck by inspiration.

"Dobby, what is today's date?" Snape inquired, just to be sure his calculations were correct.

"December 12th, sir."

* * *

Breakfast had been a silent affair but, with a new plan in mind, Snape let Harry be. After the dishes were cleaned and put away, Snape spoke.

"We have some work to do today and we will do it the old-fashioned way." As Harry stared blankly at him, Snape added, "Without magic."

Harry shrugged, as if whatever Snape wanted him to do made no difference to him.

"Follow me," Snape instructed, getting to his feet. He led the way to the back door and directed Harry to put on his shoes. It was not warm out, but Snape planned to remedy that soon enough. He had discovered something unusual a few days before and he was eager to test it out further.

Harry stepped through the door and immediately wrapped his arms around himself. It was December and the temperature was just above freezing—too cold to be outside without a heavy cloak, or a warming charm at the very least.

Snape offered Harry neither. Instead, he led the way to a shed at the back of the property, about fifty meters away. Once there, Snape threw open the doors and stepped inside, Harry following behind him. While the shed wasn't any warmer than the outside air, it did block the icy wind.

"What are we doing out here, sir?" Harry asked, shivering as he looked around the empty shed.

"First," Snape said, "we both need something warm to wear, as well as hats and work gloves."

Snape smirked at the surprised look on Harry's face as hooks promptly sprouted from the unassuming sides of the shed. Shortly thereafter, the requested items appeared.

"Cool," Harry breathed, reaching for the dark green down jacket. He pulled it on quickly, followed by the knit hat and sturdy black leather gloves.

Meanwhile, Snape pulled on a fur-lined thick black cloak, a fur-trimmed hat, and an identical pair of leather gloves.

"Next," Snape said, "we will need a saw, pruning shears, and some rope."

Three more hooks grew out of the wall of the shed, offering up the requested wares.

"A bucket to carry everything would not go amiss," Snape added. Promptly, one appeared on the floor by their feet.

Snape was pleased to see the expression of bemused surprise on Harry's face. It was a change from the grimaces and blank stares that had been there recently.

"Did you celebrate Christmas with the Muggles?" Snape asked.

"Well, they celebrated Christmas. I mostly stayed in my cupb–, er, room," Harry said, looking away as he corrected himself.

Snape bit down on his tongue to avoid cursing the lot of them. Instead, he said, "Did they have a Christmas tree?"

"An artificial one," Harry said.

 _Good_ , Snape thought. _Perhaps this will work after all._ "It isn't Christmas without a _real_ tree," Snape declared. "And there is only one proper way to get a real tree—to cut it down yourself."

"Sir?" Harry asked.

Snape pointed to a copse of fir trees in the distance. "If we are to have a Christmas tree, you will need to select one."

Harry looked startled, as if Snape had asked him to select England's next Minister of Magic. He glanced between Snape and the trees in distance.

"Are you serious?"

Snape nodded.

A calculating look appeared on Harry's face. "Any one I want?"

Snape nodded again, amusement washing through him. "However, I should remind you of a few things. First, you will need to cut this tree down with only these tools," Snape said, indicating the tools he had relocated to the bucket. "Second, you will need to drag this tree back to the house, _without magic_. Lastly, it needs to fit in the sitting room. Keep in mind that trees in the forest look much smaller in nature than they actually are."

Harry nodded and set off toward the conifers, a determined cant to his stride.

Snape let out a breath of relief. This just might work after all.

* * *

A Christmas tree. Snape wanted him, Harry Potter, to pick out a Christmas tree. Harry couldn't believe it. He wouldn't have believed Snape to be one to even celebrate the holidays and surely, if he did, he'd want to pick the tree himself—being as meticulous and perfectionistic as the professor was.

Yet, Snape was going to let _him_ pick the tree. The small child inside him gave a whoop of joy. Before Hogwarts, he'd never been allowed to participate in Christmas. He remembered sneaking out of his cupboard at night, after the Dursleys had gone to sleep, to stare at the Christmas tree, with all of its beautiful glass ornaments and white icicle lights. Aunt Petunia had insisted on all-white decorations every year, which offset the deep green of the tree. It looked elegant enough, but what young Harry had always desired were the trees he'd see through neighbors' windows, decorated with handmade ornaments and lit up with multicolored lights, casting brilliant rainbows well into the night. He wondered if Snape would let him decorate the tree as well.

It took them about ten minutes to make their way to the stand of conifers. The ground was crisp and frozen, but no snow graced the barren fields. The first trees they came across were much larger than they appeared at a distance. From the base of one tall tree, Harry found himself gazing up nearly one hundred feet.

* * *

"Don't even think about it," Snape said to prevent the boy from getting any ideas. They were _not_ going to shrink a seventy-five-foot pine and put it in the sitting room.

Harry snorted and moved deeper into the forest. "What kind of trees are these, anyway?"

"Their scientific name is _abies procera_ , but they are better known as the Noble Fir, or simply, the Christmas tree," Snape replied.

Harry removed his glove and ran his fingers along the blue-green needles that were tipped with silver. The needles clustered on the braches tilted upward, as if to meet the boy's touch.

"The needles are so soft," Harry said, dragging bunches of them through his fingers. "They aren't sharp or prickly like I thought they would be."

Snape reached out and fingered one of the large purplish seed cones that pointed skyward near the top of the tree. "If you strip back the scales on these seed cones, you'll find a plethora of red-brown seeds. Powdered and dried, they yield one of the essential ingredients of Veritaserum. The prepared seeds purify the potion and turn it clear and tasteless when heated."

"Oh," Harry said, running his fingers along the spiky bracts on the cone. "Does it have to be Noble fir pinecones? Or will any pine tree work?"

" _Pine_ _tree_ is a general term erroneously used to group together and describe a variety of coniferous trees in the _pineacea_ family. Nonetheless, to answer your question, some tree species work better than others. The Noble fir provides a mid-grade quality seed for brewing Veritaserum."

"What type provides the best seeds?" Harry asked as he walked amongst the trees, scanning them as he went. He hesitated many times, comparing one to another, touching them, smelling them, running his fingers over the symmetrical branches and stoking the grayish-brown bark. Snape didn't begrudge him the time he was taking to make his choice. He was sure that Harry had never been allowed the privilege before and, after all, they had nothing better to do.

"The highest strength and quality Veritaserum is brewed from the seeds of _pinus squamata_ , a rare species found only in a single province in southwestern China."

"How do you know so much?" Harry asked.

"I read, Potter," Snape said, and cringed inwardly when he spoke the boy's surname aloud, something Harry had asked him not to do. But, to his relief, Harry wasn't paying attention to him.

"This one," Harry said suddenly, standing proudly beside a modest fir that had a bend in the trunk, making it lurch drunkenly to one side.

"Why that one?" Snape asked, tilting his head to try and correct for the tree's odd angle. Other than the tilt, and the scraggly bits near the top, the tree looked relatively well filled out and balanced.

"It's about the right height and it's got a nest hidden inside, just there," Harry said, pointing.

Sure enough, there was a small bird's nest nestled into the braches near the curve of the trunk, a few white and grey downy feathers left behind.

"And it just feels right," Harry added. Then he bowed his head, as if Snape would mock him for making such a statement.

"Far be it for me to question your selection," Snape said. He reached into the bucket, pulled out the bow saw, and handed it to Harry. Then he stepped back and crossed his arms, watching as Harry tried to figure out exactly what to do with it.

"Saw near the bottom, a couple inches above the ground," Snape directed.

By this time, Harry had given up trying to kneel on the ground beside the tree, and had flopped onto his back, scuttling under the lower branches to get a better cutting angle.

"You can saw off some of the lower branches to make more room," Snape suggested. "That will need to be done at some point anyway to fit the tree into the tree stand."

"Now you tell me," Harry mumbled, backing out from under the low hanging branches to prune some of them from above. With that done, he got back to work sawing at the trunk.

Snape watched Harry with amusement as Harry struggled with the tree, sweat beading his face, his glasses fogged.

"This is harder than it looks," Harry commented.

Snape chuckled. "A little manual labor never hurt anyone," he replied.

Harry grunted.

Soon, Harry was over half way through the trunk, well on his way to cutting down his very first Christmas tree.

Snape stepped over to stand opposite Harry. He reached out a hand, holding the trunk to steady it. When the saw finally made its way completely through, Snape pulled the tree toward him and away from Harry, laying it down gently on the ground.

* * *

"Now what?" Harry said, panting as he removed his sap-covered gloves and wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. Then he took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt to remove the condensation that had fogged the lenses.

"Now you tie the rope around the trunk, just above the bottom branches, and drag it back to the house," Snape said.

"Why not just levitate it?" Harry asked.

"Have you ever seen Hagrid levitate a fir tree into the Great Hall?"

Harry thought about it and realized that, while he'd seen Flitwick levitate ornaments onto the trees in the Great Hall, he'd only ever seen Hagrid dragging the tall Christmas pines behind him. "No, I guess I haven't."

Snape cocked an eyebrow and gestured toward the tree.

Sighing, Harry tied the rope around the trunk and began dragging it toward the house. It took about twenty minutes, by which time Harry was sweating freely and his cheeks and the tip of his nose were bright red.

"I'll take it from here," Snape said when they reached the door. "Why don't you go back to the shed and request a tree stand."

As Harry loped off on his new mission, Snape smirked and levitated the tree over the threshold and into the house, leaning it up against the wall to wait for Harry's return.

* * *

Harry came back with a red and green metal contraption that had long angled legs stretching outward from an oddly shaped bowl in the middle with screws sticking out. "Is this right?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Snape replied. "Where would you like to put the tree?"

Harry glanced between the tree leaning against the wall beside the front door and the sitting room. "In front of the picture window," he declared.

Nodding, Snape used his wand to rearrange the furniture, leaving an opening for the tree. Then he summoned a bathroom towel and transformed it into a sturdy, square rug.

"Set the tree stand in the center," Snape directed, and Harry did so. "In order to put the tree into the stand, I will need to hold near the top of the trunk and you will need to hold near the bottom."

Together, they carried the tree across the room, settling it into the stand.

Holding it upright, Snape said, "Go back by the front door and tell me if it looks straight."

Harry did so, and then cocked his head like Snape had done earlier. "Er, the tree's a bit bent, sir," he said.

"Are you telling me you did not notice that you had selected a tree with a bent trunk when we were in the woods?" Snape asked.

"Well, I didn't think it would matter. I mean, we could straighten it out with magic," Harry said in his own defense.

"No magic," Snape reiterated.

"But Christmas started as a Pagan holiday," Harry protested.

Ignoring this, Snape twisted and turned the tree, angling it in different ways. "Tell me when to stop," he said.

"There," Harry said. "Just twist it a bit more to the left. Yes, like that," Harry instructed, walking back and forth along the back wall trying to see what looked the best. "Wait, back to the right a little. Now forward. A little more. Not that much! Back just a smidge. There, that's perfect." Harry said.

"Very well," Snape said. "Now crawl under the tree and tighten the screws while I hold it steady. Be sure to tighten all of the sides equally. If you do one side more than the other, it will lean to one side," Snape said. And then, he added, "More than it already does, I mean."

"Oh, be quiet," Harry said, and then froze. "I… I didn't mean…"

Snape waved his hand dismissively. "I know, Harry."

Still looking uncertain, Harry slid under the tree to tighten the long screws. After a few minutes, he commented, "This takes forever!"

Snape smirked. "It's good experience."

Harry snorted. "Are you going to let me use magic on the tree at all?"

"Not directly," Snape responded.

"Why not?"

"Manual labor tends to make one appreciate things more. Plus, you need the exercise."

Harry grunted. After a few more minutes, he said, "I'm done."

"Accio screwdriver," Snape said, his hand open, palm up. A drawer in the kitchen opened and a moment later, he was holding a long screwdriver. He handed it to Harry. "Slide the shaft through the metal eye hooks and use it for leverage to drive the screws into the trunk."

After a few more minutes, Harry slid out from under the tree to stand beside Snape.

"Ugh, I am full of sap," Harry said, looking down at his coat and gloves. His hat lay under the tree amidst the fallen needles.

"Ready?" Snape asked. At Harry's nod, Snape let go of the trunk. The tree slid in the base, listing to one side.

"It looks like you need to tighten the screws more on the far side," Snape said, grabbing the trunk and pulling it back upright.

"No wonder the Dursleys had an artificial tree," Harry grumbled as he crawled back beneath the branches.

Snape smiled. This was more fun than he imagined. He'd never been allowed to use magic around his Muggle father and, as he had been younger and fitter, it had been his job to do the manual labor. He found being the supervising adult rather enjoyable.

"Better?" Harry asked, still lying on the ground beneath the tree.

Snape loosened his grip on the trunk and felt the play of the trunk in the base. "A little more," Snape instructed.

It took another ten minutes, but finally the tree was standing, as tall and proud as a crooked tree could.

"It doesn't look too bad," Harry hedged, standing beside Snape. At Snape's sardonic look, Harry said, "Hey, it was my first time picking out a tree. Next time I'll be sure I get a straight one."

"It will do just fine," Snape said with a smile. "It has… character."

Harry snorted. "It does look a lot bigger in the sitting room than it did in the woods. When can we decorate it?"

"It has to settle for twenty-four hours first. In the meantime, it will need to be watered several times a day over the first couple of days. After that, once a day will be sufficient."

"All right. Anything else I need to know?" Harry inquired.

"Not at the moment. Go and shower. I will water the tree and prepare dinner."

Nodding, Harry hurried up the stairs. Snape felt oddly satisfied that he had found something that could lift the teen's spirits.

* * *

Assuming the boy had worked up an appetite from the afternoon's labors, Snape grilled up four chicken breasts, putting two on Harry's plate over a heaping pile of steaming rice and one on his own plate. Then he added a serving of steamed vegetables on the side. He was just pouring them each a tall glass of water when he heard Harry on the stairs.

"Wow, the pine smell is really strong," Harry said from the corridor. "I like it."

Snape finished setting the table and took his seat as Harry walked into the kitchen, his face flushed and his eyes bright. It was nice to see the boy looking so healthy and alive. It was such a sharp contrast from just that morning when Harry had looked like death warmed over. A bit of fresh air and something to look forward to tended to work wonders.

"What's for dinn…" Harry began, his gaze settling on his dinner plate.

Snape watched as Harry's eyes grew wide and all the color drained from his face.

"No…" Harry whimpered, his body starting to tremble. He reached out, grabbing the doorframe for support.

"Harry?" Snape called. He was on his feet and moving toward the teen before he even realized he'd left his chair.

"No, no, no, no, no," Harry whinged, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Harry?" Snape asked again, touching his shoulder lightly.

Harry yelped and jerked away. In the next moment, Harry had turned on his heel and fled.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

A/N: This is a dark chapter, filled with memories of torture. If you are skipping the torture chapters, you'll want to skip this one. The next one will be much lighter. FYI / be warned.

* * *

Snape paced back and forth, listening to the teen retching and sobbing. The boy's words were muffled and he couldn't understand them through the locked door, but he imagined that Harry was on hands and knees before the toilet, pulling at his hair.

"Harry, please, unlock the door."

It wasn't the first time Snape had made the plea. He could force the issue, use magic to gain entrance to the water closet, but if Harry wasn't in immediate danger, he'd rather let the teen retain whatever sliver of control and independence that he could.

Sighing, he stopped pacing and leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door, feeling useless. "Harry…"

The lock clicked.

Slowly, Snape twisted the knob and pushed open the door. He peered inside, ignoring the stench of vomit. Harry was sitting on the floor opposite the toilet, leaning against the wall. His legs were pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them. With his face buried in his knees, Snape couldn't tell if he was still crying, but his thin frame was trembling.

"Accio blanket," Snape murmured before casting an air-freshening charm.

A moment later, Snape settled the blanket over Harry's shoulders, pulled him forward a bit so the blanket could fall behind the teen's back, and then wrapped it around his legs, cocooning the boy. Then he sat on the floor beside Harry and leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes closed, waiting.

A few moments later, the blanket moved a little and he felt a chilled hand searching for his. He took hold of it and held on, waiting for Harry to calm down enough to talk.

He wasn't sure how long they sat there, both lost in their own thoughts. He wondered how willing he would be to discuss what had happened if the roles had been reversed. Hell, he'd flat out refused to tell Albus what the Death Eaters had done to him on the occasions when he'd been "punished" by the Dark Lord for some perceived failure, or simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Yet, somehow, Harry seemed purer than he had ever been. This, it seemed, made the teen more worthy in his eyes, more deserving of help and understanding. Snape didn't view himself as the nurturing sort, but Harry—for all his childish faults—hadn't deserved what the Death Eaters had done to him. Snape had willingly, albeit foolishly, chosen his path; the boy had not. Harry'd been thrust into an adult's game as a mere child: a pawn, a sacrifice, a hoped-for hero, the _Chosen One_. He had not volunteered, not as Severus had. And therein lay the difference.

"Harry…" Snape murmured, squeezing his hand. It was absolution and an offering all in one.

Harry raised his face and wiped the tear tracks on his blanket-covered knees. The trembling had subsided and his sniffling had ceased.

Embarrassed, Harry made to pull back his hand, but Snape only held it tighter.

"It's all right," Snape said, and then loosened his grip, in case Harry really did want his hand back.

Harry took a deep breath and bit his lower lip. He didn't release Snape's hand.

"They starved me," Harry said, his voice hollow as he studied his shoelaces. "I was so hungry I would have eaten anything. Moldy bread, sour milk, anything," he said, shaking his head.

Snape waited, listening, knowing whatever had triggered the boy would come out sooner or later.

"They would eat their meals in front of me, taunting me. They'd break off bits of food and offer it to me through the bars, but when I reached for it, they'd drop it just out of my reach and then spit on it, or mash it with their boots. And laugh." Harry dragged in a breath and shook his head. "I was so desperate. And I felt so pathetic, begging them for just a morsel."

Snape squeezed the hand clutching his, a silent token of support.

"Then, finally, they brought me food. They said they'd been ordered to treat me better. That Voldemort wanted me alive and strong so we could have a proper duel. They gave me a glass of water first. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever tasted." Harry paused, drawing in breath and swallowing hard. "Then they gave me a plate of food. It had a large piece of cooked chicken on a bed of rice. They even loosened my chains so I could twist enough to use one hand to eat. They didn't give me cutlery of course."

Harry bit his lip and made a keening sound. He let go of Snape's hand and wrapped both of his arms back around his legs, holding on tightly.

Snape scooted closer and put an arm around the boy's shoulders. He wasn't sure it was the right thing to do until Harry leaned into him.

"I thought they just wanted to humiliate me. To watch me eat with my hands like an animal. They were always calling me an animal…" Harry said, trailing off. "I had to twist awkwardly to reach the plate with my one hand, but I was so hungry I didn't care. I picked up the piece of chicken and I…" he paused, gulping for air as his voice cracked. "I bit into it, barely chewing as I swallowed because I was so hungry. I took another bite and swallowed that one too. But if felt funny, and when I looked, it was because it was… the chicken was… filled with maggots," he forced out with a shudder, his voice going up an octave. "Hundreds of them. All alive and wriggling. In my mouth, down my throat, on my chin." Harry shivered violently. "I screamed and dropped the chicken, and started vomiting. I threw up all the water they'd given me, plus the maggots I'd eaten. By then, I was covered in them. They were all over me, swimming in my puke… and with my arms chained as they were, I couldn't get them off of me." Sagging against Snape, his voice desperate, he continued. "I just kept screaming and retching and thrashing around uselessly. And the guards just kept laughing…"

Harry let out a sound of despair and Snape pulled him closer. Harry let him, burying his face against Snape's chest as his sobs redoubled. Snape rubbed his back, listening to the boy muttering against his chest. Snape couldn't understand the muffled words, but he didn't think it mattered. Harry just needed to get it out.

As he soothed the boy as best he could, he reckoned the only thing surprising about this breakdown was that it hadn't happened sooner. He remembered back to when Harry had been rescued. Snape had tried to give the starving teen food then, but he'd refused it. The fact that Snape hadn't prepared a meal that had triggered a bad reaction sooner was astounding. But then, he reasoned, that was likely because he'd been feeding the boy simple broths and bread and eggs exclusively up until that point. Tonight was the first time he'd tried something more substantial.

As Harry's tears ebbed once again, Harry pulled back, righting himself next to Snape. Not making eye contact, he murmured, "Sorry, sir."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Snape informed him.

Harry glanced at him through his fringe of hair before looking away.

Snape let out a breath, feeling truly sorry for the boy. Softly, he asked, "Is there any chance I can get you to eat _something_ this evening? Name it and I'll make it for you."

Harry shuddered and that was answer enough.

Snape got to his feet and wetted a flannel with warm water before handing it to Harry.

Harry took it and began to wipe his face.

"Give me a minute to clean up the kitchen. I will meet you in the sitting room when you feel up to it."

* * *

Harry had been quiet and tense the rest of the evening, refusing both food and conversation. By the time they were preparing for bed, Snape had a bad feeling that it was going to be a long night. Even Dobby's presence and reassurances that Harry was safe didn't seem to calm the teen. And tonight was not a Dreamless Sleep night.

Snape made sure that Harry had his ball of light near him before he extinguished the sconces that lit the master bedroom. As Snape lay in bed, waiting for Harry to fall asleep, he could hear the boy fretting.

"What is on your mind?" he finally asked, knowing neither of them would be able to sleep with as agitated as Harry was.

"I was thinking about the Muggle in the cell next to mine. At least, I think he was a Muggle."

There was a long pause, before Harry added, "I couldn't help him."

In a quieter voice that Snape had to strain to hear, Harry said, "There was nothing I could do."

"You can't save everyone, Harry." Snape turned on his side, facing the teen. Harry lay on his back, the ball of light above him casting shadows over the planes of his face. "None of it was your fault. That Muggle would have suffered the same whether you were there or not."

"I just felt so helpless," Harry admitted. "I tried to speak to him, but he would just cry whenever I did, so I stopped."

Silence hung between them as Snape waited for Harry to continue. "They did awful things to him, Professor. Worse than they did to me. He would scream until he couldn't anymore." There was a pause, and then Harry said, "I used to beg them to stop hurting him."

Snape heard Harry suck in a breath. "I sometimes wished they would just kill the poor bloke so he wouldn't have to suffer anymore."

"That is perfectly understandable," Snape replied.

"Is it?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with self-reproach. "I wasn't sure if I wanted him to die for his sake, or because I couldn't stand hearing his pained screams."

Snape opened his mouth to say something, but Harry kept talking.

"They wouldn't let him die," Harry said, his voice breaking. "They kept him alive, I think to taunt me as much as to torture him. They…" Harry stopped, cleared his throat. "They started… cutting off his body parts." Harry started making that keening noise again, the one that broke Snape's heart. "After the chicken, they brought me a bowl of soup and…" Harry gasped.

"Harry…" Snape said sitting up, knowing this was going nowhere good and not quite sure what to do about it.

"And… there were these _chunks_ floating in it. And they were… they were the man's toes…" Harry made a sound deep in his throat and rolled onto his side, curling into a tight ball.

Snape knelt beside the camp bed, placing a hand on the teen's shoulder. When he didn't flinch away, Snape rubbed gentle circles on his back.

"There was nothing you could have done, Harry. The situation was beyond your control. The blame lies entirely with your captors."

"But I…" Harry sobbed. "I was glad it was him and not me," he admitted and Snape could hear the pain and guilt in his voice.

"Of course you were," Snape said soothingly, "anyone would have been in your situation. It was only natural for you to have those thoughts. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

Harry continued to sob and Snape wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't good at this sort of thing. He'd never got his kicks from torturing people and steered clear of it as much as he could. When he was unable to avoid it, he survived by detaching himself from what was happening, and then burying it in the back of his mind as best he could.

"They would threaten to cut off my body parts as well," Harry breathed, that awful keening sound resurfacing as he forced out the words. "One guard would hold me down and the other would use his dagger to make an incision on my wrist or my ankle, telling me he was going to cut off my hand or foot. Then…" Harry said, trembling now, "they would give me a choice. They said they would either cut off my hand… or the bloke's in the next cell."

Snape clenched his jaw, vowing to tear Harry's torturers limb from limb if he ever got the chance.

"They wanted me to choose… him or me… and I… I… couldn't. I couldn't do it. I couldn't choose."

Snape pulled Harry toward him, gathering the sobbing young man awkwardly in his arms. He couldn't even imagine having the strength it took Harry not to condemn the faceless man in the next cell to save his own skin. Harry was a better man than he ever would be.

"And then, one of the guards would go next door and tell the bloke that I had chosen for them to cut off his hand or foot instead of mine." Harry looked pleadingly at Snape. "But I didn't, Professor. I swear, I didn't!"

Snape placed a gentle hand on Harry's head and pulled the teen to his chest. "Of course you didn't," he whispered.

Harry's hands fisted in Snape's nightshirt. "He would beg and plead for the guard not to do it. And then he'd scream and scream and I'd scream too, but there was nothing I could do."

"Shhhh, child," Snape murmured, rocking Harry gently in his arms.

"When the guard came back he'd…" Harry swallowed, shaking his head back in forth as if to deny his memories, "he'd throw the hand or foot at me. Sometimes, he'd wipe the hot, sticky blood across my skin," Harry whispered, a shudder wracking his body. "They'd always leave it there when they left, like a reminder." Harry swallowed before adding bitterly, "As if I could forget."

Snape dropped his head to rest on Harry's, his heart aching. He wondered if they'd ever put the poor Muggle out of his misery. Unwilling to ask, Snape cast a Featherlight Charm on Harry, lifted him in his arms, and carried him to his bed, where he laid the boy down in the middle. Then he crawled in and pulled the boy back into his arms and against his chest, offering what comfort he could.

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he saw Dobby standing beside the bed, a vial of pink fluid gripped in knobby fingers. Snape nodded his thanks as he took the vial and handed it to Harry, encouraging him to drink the Calming Draught.

As Harry continued to tremble against him, Snape closed his eyes and began to sing. It was the one thing that seemed to calm the boy. As the words floated over them both, Snape couldn't help but reflect on how pertinent they were.

 _Through many dangers, toils and snares,  
I have already come;  
Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,  
And grace will lead me home._


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

A/N: I typically update between Friday and Monday, depending on when I have time. Updates may become slower as Christmas approaches, though, as I have so many other things competing for my time and attention this time of year.

A/N 2: With Google as my botanist, I am sure that many of the plants I listed are not incredibly accurate. So, if you read this and think 'plant X does _not_ blossom in that soil in that part of the world in December'—you are probably right. Sorry about that. Please grant me some artistic license with this chapter.

* * *

After crying himself to sleep in Snape's arms, Harry had slept through the night, much to Snape's relief. Snape had disentangled himself from the boy and risen, saving them both from embarrassment. He left Dobby with Harry so the teen wouldn't wake alone and went to prepare breakfast. He made Harry's porridge the way the boy liked it—with cinnamon and sugar. It was much too sweet for Snape, but he wasn't going to begrudge the boy after the food issues Harry had had the day before. He would be happy if Harry would just eat.

The scent of fresh pine had infiltrated the house, prompting Snape to glance toward the sitting room as he made his way up the stairs, his lips quirking at the sight of the tree that was bent but not broken. He rather thought it was a good description for Harry, as well as himself. Continuing up towards the bedroom, Snape vowed to do what he could to engage Harry in something other than his memories. He'd have to talk to Dobby but, with the elf's help, he was sure he could manage to give Harry a decent Christmas and perhaps some new, better memories to offset the ones that haunted him.

* * *

Harry awoke wrapped in blankets in a much larger bed than he was used to. It took him a moment to remember why he was in Snape's bed. He bit back a groan as heat crept up his neck. Snape had been more than decent about it, but Harry still felt like an idiot for crying all over the man. At least he'd slept well, which was a nice change. Glancing around the room, he found Snape sitting near the window, gazing off in thought. He also saw a steaming bowl of porridge opposite where the man sat, in Harry's usual spot. His stomach grumbled in anticipation, causing Snape to stir.

"Morning, sir," Harry said.

Snape nodded, his expression inscrutable.

Harry made a quick trip to the WC, then sat down opposite Snape and began to eat the porridge. It had just the right level of sweetness and Harry was surprised Snape had remembered how he liked it.

"Thanks for breakfast," Harry said. Swallowing against a sudden onset of nerves, he said, "And for last night."

Snape merely nodded again. "When you are finished, I'd like to spend some time outside. There are some potion ingredients I need to gather, and I could use your assistance."

* * *

Donning the warm clothes from the previous day, Harry and Snape headed to the shed. The temperature was just above freezing and a solid layer of clouds prevented the sun from making an appearance.

"What do we need to collect, sir?" Harry asked.

"A variety of things," Snape replied, pulling the doors of the shed open and stepping inside. "And to do so, we will need some baskets."

A moment later, a variety of different sized, shaped, and colored baskets lay scattered across the floor.

Snape picked up a tall, narrow hamper before directing Harry to one shaped more like a large picnic basket that opened on top from both sides. "Grab a small basket as well," Snape directed as he took a similar one for himself.

Harry chose a round basket that was woven in dark brown reed.

"I presume you'd like to decorate the tree in the sitting room," Snape said as he made his way back outside, waiting for Harry to exit before closing the doors behind them.

"Er, yeah," Harry replied, not sure where this conversation was going.

"It seems that we have little in the way of traditional ornaments, so we will need to make our own from what we can find out here."

"But it's winter, sir," Harry protested.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your point?"

"Well, isn't everything dead this time of year?"

Snape snorted. "Hardly. Keep your eye out for anything that looks interesting. If you can imagine a use for it, we can do something with it. For this, I will allow you to use magic."

"Use magic how?" Harry asked.

"To transfigure, transform, charm, or reimagine whatever it is you find."

Well, that didn't sound so bad, Harry thought.

"May I suggest you gather twigs in a variety of colors, winter berries, pinecones of various sizes, seedpods, nuts, and anything else you find that looks interesting. If you aren't sure what it is, ask before you touch it. For some of the more fragile items, you will need to cast hardening charms before adding them to your basket."

"What about you, sir? What are you looking for?" Harry asked, his eyes scanning the ground as they walked. He came across an acorn and added it to his basket.

"There are a few potions ingredients I would like to find, including witch hazel, hellebore, and ilex."

"Oh," Harry said. "I'd help you if I knew what those looked like in the wild."

Snape made a noise in his throat and Harry had the feeling that the wizard was holding back a disparaging remark about Harry's knowledge, or lack thereof.

"I will alert you to their presence _in the wild_ , as you say, should we come across any."

They spent a mostly pleasant morning gathering all manner of things. Harry had to stop a couple of times to pick prickly burrs off his clothing, and once, he tripped over a log and twisted his ankle. Thankfully, Snape was able to spell it back to rights.

Mostly, though, Harry was surprised at what could be found in the middle of winter. Evergreen trees and shrubs remained green and offered up pinecones in many shapes, sizes, and colors, which he added to his basket in larger quantities than he probably needed. He gathered more acorns, some oak bark because it was white and peeled off the tree easily, and dogwood sticks that were red and somewhat flexible. He also found some seedpods that were shaped like stars, which he found quite interesting. However, when he tried to remove them from the plants, they disintegrated in his hands.

"Durum," Snape said, his wand pointing at a star-shaped seedpod hanging from a dried stalk. Then he plucked the hardened pod off the stem and handed it to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said, quickly repeating the spell Snape had used to gather several more. When he'd plucked all of the star pods he could find, they moved on.

"Ah," Snape said, stopping beside a bush and fingering a thick glossy pointed leaf. "Surely you know what this is."

"Holly," Harry said automatically as they stood before the thicket of bushes bursting with color on the otherwise overcast day. Crimson red berries clustered amid the easily identifiable green leaves.

"Yes," Snape said. "Also known as English Holly or Christmas Holly or Common Holly. Its scientific name is _Ilex aquifolium_. It has become so widespread it is considered an invasive species," Snape continued as he plucked a few leaves from the bush.

"What are the leaves used for?" Harry asked.

"In moderate quantities, the leaves—and more so, the berries—are poisonous. In very small amounts, they provide a substance that can act as a stimulant. A tincture of holly berry is used in Pepperup Potion. It is responsible for the potion's bitter taste."

Snape snapped off a few more leaves, and then began gathering the berries in his smaller basket. "In olden times, they mashed the holly leaves and mixed them with gruel to induce vomiting and diarrhea."

Snape gestured to Harry's smaller basket. "You are going to want to fill that up with berries, as well."

"Planning on poisoning me?" Harry joked as he reached out to pull a handful of red globes from the bush.

"Hmm," Snape mused. "It is a thought. But if I did, you would likely haunt me for the rest of my days. And I suspect you would be as obnoxious as Peeves."

Harry snorted. "I _would_ haunt you, too."

"Just as well I do not poison you then," Snape said, smirking at Harry.

Harry smirked back, just a little, as they continued to fill their baskets with holly berries. Snape, of all people, was teasing him. He felt something shift inside of him, as if his heart was opening the tiniest bit. Professor Snape, the man he'd loathed longer than not, had turned out to be one of the few people who actually cared enough about him to not only stand up for him, but to stand beside him, through thick and thin. He wasn't always nice about it, in fact he could be downright cruel in his anger and exasperation at times. But the longer Harry knew him, the more he realized that the man's demeanor was both a defense mechanism to keep people at arm's length, and an artifact of his demanding standards—both for himself as well as others.

"If you're finished," Snape said, interrupting Harry's musings, "I believe I have found some witch hazel."

Harry, his smaller basket full of berries, followed Snape to a barren tree studded with the most bizarre looking blossoms—if you could call them that—that he'd ever seen. From a distance, it had looked as if someone had thrown handfuls of cooked linguini at a bare tree, the noodles hanging off in clumps. Up close, it looked more like yellow and orange carrot peelings dangling off brown papery bits that turned out to be seedpods. On closer inspection, he saw that a small, dark four-petal flower stood inside the carrot-like shavings.

" _That_ is witch hazel?" Harry asked, leaning in closer. "Oi! It smells!" he exclaimed, backing away quickly.

Snape cocked an eyebrow, ignoring the comment on the plant's scent. "Break off the branches at the base, like this," Snape said, showing Harry how to do it. "Then stack them upright in my basket. I will need the bark, blossoms, and seedpods."

Harry did so, working alongside Snape as he tried not to breathe in the pungent odor of the plant.

"Third-year potions," Snape said as he continued to pluck blossom-laden branches from the tree. "What is distilled witch hazel used for?"

"It's used for making primary and secondary potion bases, and some tertiary bases as well," Harry replied, thrilled he could remember.

"Tell me which tertiary bases it is used for, and I will be impressed," Snape replied.

But Harry could tell he was already impressed, which was a nice change from being criticized for all of the things he didn't know. "Polyjuice Potion, for one," Harry said. "And Wolfsbane, for another." Harry held his breath. Those were the only two he could think of; if there were more, he didn't know it.

"Very good," Snape said. "Let us head back to the house and see if your applied skills can match your remembered knowledge."

Harry groaned inwardly. Leave it to Snape to test him the first time he'd actually got something right.

* * *

"Cooking is not dissimilar to making potions," Snape stated as he set a cutting board and knife before Harry at the kitchen table. "Explain to me how that is so."

"Well, you have to follow a recipe," Harry said.

"What else?" Snape asked.

"You need the right ingredients. And in the right quantities."

"Keep going," Snape advised.

Harry thought about cooking meals at the Dursleys'. Some recipes were more complicated than others. "You have to prepare the ingredients properly before adding them. Like, dicing onions or slicing carrots. And sometimes you have to cook them first, before adding them to the dish."

"What happens if you don't follow the directions exactly, or if you misprepare the ingredients?"

"The dish doesn't turn out right," Harry said.

"And what of a potion so mishandled?"

Harry grimaced. "I get where you are going with this. If the dish doesn't turn out, you can just throw it away. Worst case scenario it tastes bad or burns or maybe even catches on fire. But with a potion, it can explode or injure someone."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Which is why you are so strict in the Potions classroom." Glancing at Snape, Harry said, "I never thought about how nerve-wracking it must be for you to watch thirty students all at once."

"Thirty potentially exploding cauldrons all at once," Snape said in agreement.

"Yeah," Harry said. "What do you want me to do with these?" he asked of the bowl of apples Snape had slid in his direction along with the knife and cutting board.

"Inside each apple, if properly dissected, is a star. If you cut them like this," Snape said, showing Harry the proper direction, "you will see what I mean."

Indeed there _was_ a five-pointed star in the middle of the apple slice. "I didn't know that," Harry said. "Does any other fruit have that?"

"These do," Snape said, pulling out a sack of long yellow fruits that seemed to have fins.

"What are these?" Harry asked.

"Starfruit," Snape responded. "They are from the tropics, but Dobby was able to find us a few upon my request. Slice them as you would the apples, about one-quarter inch thick."

Harry did as instructed. The lobed fruit gave way to large, star-shaped yellow slices that looked quite nice. They gave off a sweet scent that was unlike anything he'd smelled before. He worked until he had sliced up eight apples and four starfruit.

Meanwhile, Snape quickly sliced some oranges and lemons. Then he laid out four metal baking sheets. "Spread the slices on here. We will dry the fruit in the oven."

Carefully, Harry laid out his apple and starfruit slices across while Snape added his oranges and lemons, as well as a few cinnamon sticks. After sliding the pans in the oven and setting a timer, Snape brought over a bowl of smaller oranges.

"Do we need to slice these as well?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape said. "We will do something else with these."

Snape pulled two knives from a drawer and transfigured them into long, round sticks, each with a blunt-edged hook on the end. He handed one to Harry.

"What are these for?"

"They are shaping tools. You use them to carve patterns into the orange, like this," Snape said, picking up a piece of fruit and placing the hooked end of the tool against its thick skin.

Harry watched as Snape drew the tool across the dimpled orange peel in a swirling pattern, leaving a pale yellow trail in the tool's wake. It appeared as if he'd drawn snakes on the outside of the orange, merely by removing the outermost layer of skin. As if to cement the image, Snape drew a Slytherin "S" on what Harry presumed to be the front, and then set it on the table.

"Er, I don't think I can draw the Gryffindor lion," Harry said.

Snape smirked and picked up another orange. This time, he drew some runes on it.

"What does it say?" Harry asked, picking up his own small orange and debating what to draw on it.

"It is the rune for _Choices_ ," Snape replied.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he drew the first thing he could think of, a Snitch. Realizing that his makeshift ornament could turn in any direction, he added a broomstick on the backside. The scent of fresh oranges wafted into the air, mixing with the heady citrus, apple, and cinnamon scents coming from the oven. A touch of melancholy settled over him at the thought that this was what a real home smelled like.

Pushing the thought aside, he carved a spell around the perimeter of his next orange, then held it up and rotated it to study his work.

"What does it say?" Snape asked.

Harry frowned. "Well, depending on how you looked at it, it could read _moslu_ or _oslum_ or _slumo_."

"Or _Lumos_ ," Snape said.

"Yeah, that was the plan," Harry said.

Nodding, Snape waved his wand, muttered a few words, and Harry found himself holding an orange with light glowing brightly from the carved letters.

"Cool!" he said. "You'll have to teach me that spell."

Snape did just that, teaching Harry how to make all of his carved oranges spew light and glow. By the time they were done carving ornaments out of oranges, Harry had managed to make some of his cycle through various colors of light and one even had a design that flashed between Happy Christmas and Bah Humbug.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Let's take a look at what you gathered today," Snape suggested.

Harry poured his basket out on the table, pawing through the various bits and pieces and sorting them into like piles.

"How many of those items can you identify?" Snape asked.

"Well, these are acorns," Harry said, pointing to a small pile, "and I think this is dogwood…"

"Correct," Snape said, nodding at the flexible red twigs.

"These are milkweed pods," Harry said of the curved, characteristically shaped pods. "Pinecones, of course…"

"Sort those by size," Snape instructed, and Harry quickly did so.

"And the rest of these I've seen a lot, but I don't know what they're called," Harry finished. "But they looked interesting, so I picked them up."

Snape studied each of the piles for a moment. "These are sweetgum seeds," he said, gesturing toward the hard, spiky balls. "And these are the seeds of a weed called velvet leaf," he said of the fragile many-sided star-shaped pods that Harry had needed to cast a hardening charm on so they wouldn't fall to pieces. "Field grass," he said of the pile of tall, pale grass. "And false winter anise," he said, pointing to the starfish-shaped seedpods.

"Why _false_ winter anise?" Harry asked.

"Because it looks like Chinese anise, or _Illicium verum,_ which is used to make the star anise spice. But _Illiciumm verum_ grows only in warm climates."

"So it isn't of any use, then?" Harry asked.

"On the contrary. Its star shape will look very festive on the tree."

"I was thinking I could make it bigger," Harry said.

Snape made a hand gesture to encourage Harry.

Pulling one of the false winter anise seedpods toward him, Harry pointed his wand at it, keeping the size he wanted in mind, and said "Engorgio." The star grew to take up his whole palm.

"Would you like to make any other modifications to it?"

Harry studied it. "I think I'll make it gold." Setting it back on the table, he pointed his wand and said "Aurum." He picked it up again and looked at it. "I like it," he said. "I think I'll make the rest of them that way."

"What of the others?" Snape asked.

Harry picked up the spiky sweetgum pod. "I could enlarge this to the size of a normal Christmas ornament. I could make them different colors." Glancing at Snape mischievously, he added, "I could make them sing Christmas songs at the top of each hour as well."

"You could," Snape said, studying a large pinecone he had picked up. "But I don't imagine they'd last long if you did that. They make great fire kindling, after all, if I was so persuaded. Or forced, as the case may be."

Harry snorted. "Point taken, sir."

"You have the raw materials here to make these into anything you wish. Whether that be keeping them in their natural state, charming them to do something special, or transfiguring them to resemble ornaments you've seen elsewhere, the choice is up to you."

"And you can teach me any spells I need?" Harry asked.

"I can, but I suggest you refer to your textbooks first."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. Snape had set him up. All of this, all that they'd done so far today, it was all a lesson in one way or another. Gathering and learning about plants—Herbology, slicing and preparing the fruit—Potions—and there was brewing yet to come, Harry knew. Changing the appearance and qualities of the soon-to-be ornaments—Charms and Transfiguration. All in the guise of doing something other than book learning. And they were far from done yet.

"Yes?" Snape asked, staring at Harry quizzically.

"Nothing, sir," Harry said, arranging three stubby round pinecones into the shape of a snowman and using a sticking charm to hold them together. "I just realized that you are using all of this as an opportunity to teach me."

"I _am_ a professor," Snape replied.

Harry took a red twig and some of the long grasses, as well as some twine Snape had set out, and fashioned a miniature broom for an ornament.

"Thanks for doing it this way," Harry said. "It's easier like this. For now, at least."

Snape nodded, then got up to make tea.

Meanwhile, Harry picked up a pinecone and focused on an image of Hedwig. He bade his mind to envision each aspect of the snowy white owl's anatomy, from her bright yellow eyes to the curve of her beak, and from the downy feathers on her breast to the longer speckled tail feathers. Concentrating hard, he said the spell. When he opened his eyes, he shrieked. There was a baby owlet poised in his palm, looking up at him with the most innocent eyes.

"Is there a problem?" Snape asked.

"I didn't meant to pull a real owl from its mother," Harry protested. "I just meant to transfigure my pinecone into a miniature replica of my pet owl, Hedwig."

Snape slid Harry a mug of tea while he sipped at his own. "I see," he said. "Do you know how to return this owlet back to its nest?"

"No idea," Harry said, lifting the tiny owl to his face. "Hi sweet one," he said. "Aren't you cute?"

"I can return it for you, but I'll need your wand," Snape said.

Harry handed over his wand.

Snape held Harry's wand in one hand and grasped Harry's hand from beneath with the other, holding Harry's hand and the owlet steady. "Ready?"

Harry stroked the soft feathers. "Bye, little one. Grow up to be strong, all right?"

With a wave of Harry's wand, the owlet vanished.

"Why did you need to use my wand?" Harry asked on a sigh. It would have been nice to have been able to keep the owlet, but it was much too young to be away from its mother.

"In order to return the owlet to the proper nest, I needed to be able to trace the initial spell used to summon it. If I used my wand, I could have banished the owl, but I would have had no hope of sending it back from whence it came."

That made sense. Picking up another pine cone, Harry asked, "What did I do wrong?"

"The spell you used was correct," Snape replied. "My guess is that you infused your magic with too much emotion and too little practicality."

"Meaning?" Harry asked.

"Meaning that you really wanted your pet owl, not some cheap wooden rendition of it."

Harry sighed. "You're probably right. I miss her. And my friends." Setting down the pinecone, Harry said, "I miss pretty much everything about Hogwarts." Harry lined up a set of smaller pinecones tip-to-tip before putting their tips together around a central point to form the shape of a star. "Well," he said, perking up, "I don't miss Malfoy. Or Divination."

Snape snorted. He reached over and picked up one of Harry's pinecones. A quick wave of his wand and a miniature carved version of Hedwig lay in his palm. "For your nest," he said.

Harry looked at the figure in shock. How had Snape known so precisely what his owl had looked like? "Thank you," he breathed.

"You're welcome."

* * *

It was nearly time for lunch as Harry sat at the table, threading pieces of twine through the ornaments he and Snape had made. He had begun to assemble items together in terms of not only how they looked, but how they smelled as well.

"This reminds of eating apple pie at Hogwarts," Harry said as he tied cinnamon sticks to oven-dried apple slices. After he was finished with the apples, he poked whole cloves into the dried orange slices, making a rich and spicy citrus mix. Next, he hung the dried lemon slices with small pine cones that smelled like the trees they came from. It was a refreshing combination that offset the sweeter scented ornaments. Overall, the kitchen smelled amazing, and it made him realize just how much scents could affect one's mood. Once again he associated this scent with what he imagined a true home would smell like.

The holly berries he'd gathered still sat in their basket, bright red and untouched. Snape had told him he had a plan for them that he would share after lunch. Speaking of which, Snape had just turned the cooker off. Harry jumped to his feet to set the table, carefully sliding the ornaments aside. Snape had prepared a pureed butternut squash soup along with fresh rosemary bread served with butter. Snape had also thrown together an apple pie for dessert after Harry had mentioned missing them earlier. The scent of lunch made his mouth water. He poured Snape a glass of water and himself a glass of milk.

Snape looked through Harry's ornaments as they ate, making the occasional comment ("Is Quidditch all you ever think about?"), asking questions ("Is that supposed to be a Hippogriff?"), and adding the occasional suggestion ("Have you considered making it turn invisible when I am in the room?"). It was probably the most light-hearted conversation they'd had to date.

Afterwards, Harry cleaned up the dishes. Snape helped Harry finish adding twine for hanging the ornaments, and then, much to Harry's surprise, Snape made a never-ending batch of popcorn on the cooker.

As the corn kernels popped into large white fluffy pieces, Harry finally had to ask.

"Er, are you still hungry, sir? That's an awful lot of popcorn."

"We will need it," Snape said, not answering the question. He cast a spell at the stovetop to slow, but not stop, the production. Then he set one large bowl of popcorn next to where Harry sat at the table, and another large bowl next to his elbow. The round basket of Harry's holly berries went in the middle, directly between them, where Snape cast a solidifying charm on them.

Snape reached into a bag and pulled out two very long needles and two spools of clear fishing line, giving Harry one of each. "Have you worked it out yet?" Snape asked.

"Garland?" Harry guessed.

"Correct. You will add two pieces of popcorn for each berry, like this," Snape said. He threaded the large needle with fishing string and then added a berry from the basket. Two pieces of popcorn and another berry later, and the pattern was established.

Harry followed suit. The popcorn was a bit fiddly. It crumbled and broke apart if he wasn't careful. The solidification charm made the berries much easier to work with. He could easily run his needle through, yet the berry didn't squirt juice or pop at being handled roughly. Soon the strings of garland were in full progress. They looked quite pretty, alternating between red and white, and Harry imagined they'd look even better on the tree.

"Sir," Harry asked. "Where did you learn to do all of these things?" As Harry was focusing on threading a piece of popcorn onto his needle, it took him a moment to realize that Snape had gone quiet. Glancing up, Harry noticed that all the color had drained from Snape's face, and his hands and jaw were clenched. He was gazing over Harry's shoulder, his mouth twisted in a grimace.

"Sir?" Harry asked. When there was no answer, he set down the garland and made to get up.

Snape's gaze jerked back to Harry. "Sit," he commanded.

Harry sat back down, feeling uneasy.

Snape took a deep breath, before returning to his own strand of garland. Finally, he said, "My mother."

Harry knew better than to push the issue and was surprised when Snape continued speaking. "We were very poor growing up. We couldn't afford much. So my mother took me out each year and we cut down a tree and brought it home. And then she showed me how to make decorations out of scraps and things from nature and anything else we could find."

Harry held his breath, wondering if Snape would go on. He knew so very little about Snape, being that he was such a private man, that any bit of information felt like a very special gift.

"Sometimes she'd teach me spells and enchantments to liven up the tree. We'd have to take them off before my father got home, though." Snape's expression darkened. "The drunk bastard didn't approve of magic, or holidays, or anything else for that matter."

Each word was bitten out as though it cost him to say it. Knowing that Snape had somewhat of a similar childhood to Harry's own—if his words and accidental Occlumency session glimpses were anything to go by—went a long way in explaining why the man had helped him when Harry had landed unexpectedly on his doorstep the previous summer.

Refilling his cup of tea, Snape said, "They are some of the best memories I have of her."

Images of his own mum and dad—and what Christmases might have been like had they lived—made it hard for him to swallow around the lump in his throat. After a few moments, he said, "I'm glad you got the chance to make some good memories with her." Harry wished he could have said the same for himself and his mother.

Snape set down his cut of tea, a frown on his face. "Harry."

"Sir?" Harry said, looking up.

"I might not have liked your father, and I had lost touch with your mother by the time you were born, but I can guarantee you this. They both loved you very much. Of that, Harry, have no doubt."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"Will we decorate the tree before dinner?" Harry asked.

"After, I think," Snape replied. "There is a potion I'd like you to brew first."

Harry nearly groaned. He didn't feel like brewing a potion, at least not with Snape standing over his shoulder, watching his every move. It felt too much like class, and Potions class had a way of bringing back bad memories.

"What will I be brewing?"

Snape pushed open the door to the pantry that had become the makeshift potions lab. "A combination solution. One of my own invention."

"Oh," Harry said, following Snape into the small room. "When did you invent it?"

"Just now."

Harry gaped at the man. Surely he must be joking. But Snape's expression was serious and, if there was one thing Snape didn't joke about, it was potions.

"All right," Harry hedged. "Should I ask what it's for?"

"You may ask, but I will not answer," Snape replied, pulling a few different books, as well as parchment and quill, to where he seated himself in front a brewing bench.

Harry bit back a sigh. The man could be so cryptic at times. Then it occurred to him. "You want me to guess, don't you?"

"No, Harry, I do not want you to _guess_ ," Snape bit out. "I would hope you would have gained enough of an education by now to do more than _guess._ "

"I mean," Harry said, "you want me to look at the ingredients, the formula, and figure it out."

"Precisely. I will be combining three simple potions. It will be your job to not only brew the concoction, but to work out which three potions have been combined and what their end-product will achieve."

Harry bit his lower lip, wishing Hermione was here. She would relish the challenge, and succeed with minimal effort, no doubt. Harry, on the other hand, barely managed to make one potion correctly, much less an experimental combination of three.

"Sir," Harry began. "May I ask a question that I'm sure you'll think is stupid?"

Snape lifted his head from where he was writing and cocked an eyebrow at him.

Taking that as permission, Harry said, "How do you know when you combine three potions together that they won't just blow up or something?"

Snape set down his quill. "Are you suggesting I would be so careless as to endanger you?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "But if _I_ threw three random potions together in the same cauldron, I'm sure it would explode."

Snape studied him for a moment. "You will _not_ be combining three completed potions. I am devising a new recipe that has elements of each of the original potions in them. The ingredients that make up these elements are stable when combined. As a Potions master, I am required to know which ingredients can be safely mixed together, and which ones interact in a negative manner."

"Better you than me," Harry mumbled. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to do what you do."

A quarter of an hour later, Snape handed over the formula for the new potion.

As Harry read through it, he noticed that Snape had made annotations in the margins.

 _At this point, the potion should be faintly orange in color._

 _After adding the dandelion root, the potion should release an odor similar to charred wood._

 _Once steam begins to rise, decant and cork immediately._

"Any questions?" Snape asked.

"It looks clear enough," Harry responded. "Thanks for the extra hints."

Snape nodded. "I do not wish to waste what few potions ingredients we have. If you have a question, or make a mistake, come to me immediately."

"You aren't going to stay and watch?" Harry asked.

"Do I need to?"

Harry gazed up at the man. Snape was actually going to trust him to brew a new potion alone? "No," Harry said. "I think I can handle this. I will let you know if I need help."

Snape nodded and left the pantry.

The brewing, it turned out, was the easy part. The instructions were clear, the ingredients familiar, and the tips in the margin aligned well with his efforts. He decanted the steaming solution into the two glass bottles Snape had set out for the task and then sealed them, mesmerized by the shimmering liquid inside that seemed to writhe and pulse against the glass.

Now the only thing he had to figure out was what the potion actually did. And what three potions it was derived from. He washed his hands and fetched a glass of water to drink, contemplating all the while how exactly he was supposed to do that. Hermione would know. And if she didn't, she'd look in a book. Glancing over at the lab bench, he saw the stack of books that Snape had set there. He hadn't seen Snape refer to them while he wrote out the new formula, so likely the potions were simple ones. At least he hoped that was the right assumption. And if Snape didn't need the books, why had he set them out? The only logical answer was that Harry would need them.

With no better idea of where to start, he sat and began to look through them. There were four books. One was a small book of ingredients, their attributes, and the potions they were most commonly used in. Another was a book of elementary potion recipes. The third was a book on ingredient combinations and their joint characteristics. The fourth book was in Latin. He frowned at that one and set it aside, not sure what he was supposed to do with it.

As two of the books were about ingredients, he supposed that was the easiest place to start. He pored over the two tomes, making notes on each item Snape had instructed him to use. Dandelion root, for instance, had a wide variety of properties on its own but, when combined with coneflower, it acted as a sedative. When it was combined with thistle, another of the ingredients, it acted as a nutrient for some woodland creatures.

By the time he'd compiled the various ingredients and combinations he could find across the two books, he had a list of about twelve different properties and felt more confused than ever. Glancing over at the elementary potions book, he began paging through it, trying to find mention of the different properties and then seeing if the list of ingredients matched with what he'd used. It took him awhile, but he finally managed to come up with four potential potions. Unsure of how to rule one of them out, he went to seek out the Potions master, whom he found in the sitting room poring over a journal of some sort.

"I'm finished, sir," Harry said.

"The potion was successful?" Snape inquired.

"Yes, sir. That part went well. I'm just not certain about the three potions you combined."

At Snape's raised brow, Harry continued. "I found four potions it could be, I think, and I'm not sure how to narrow it down to only three."

"I see," Snape said, setting the journal aside. "Let us first examine your potion."

Harry followed Snape back into the pantry. Snape picked up one of the two clear glass jars and studied it carefully, turning it this way and that. "Very good, Harry."

Harry, who had been holding his breath even though he was pretty sure he'd got it right, let it out with a smile.

"Now, what are your conclusions about this potion?"

"Well," Harry began, "I believe it's some sort of calming or sleeping solution, maybe both. I can tell that from these two ingredients here," Harry said, pointing to two adjacent substances on the formula Snape had written out. "And I'm guessing these two have something to with stabilizing the other ingredients. I don't think they do anything on their own. Or, if they do, I couldn't determine what."

Harry glanced at Snape, who gave no indication of how correct or incorrect Harry's deductions were.

"These three seem to be some sort of nutrient solution, but not for humans. I've found references to woodland creatures and wood lice and some other species I haven't heard of. So maybe you want to sedate something but you want to feed it first?"

When Snape didn't respond, Harry continued. "But these ingredients," Harry said, pointing them out, "don't make any sense to me. This one doesn't seem to do anything that I can find. And this one I just can't find at all. These two seem to have some masking properties, as if they make something undetectable, but this isn't an invisibility potion, so I'm not sure why they'd be in here."

Harry looked up and waited for Snape to speak.

"When you say you could not find a reference for these two ingredients," Snape began, "did you check this book here?"

"Er, no," Harry replied. "It's in Latin."

"Indeed it is. Take another look at those ingredients, Harry. Crosscheck your references. Then come and tell me what they do."

With that, Snape left the room, and Harry looked after him, feeling bewildered.

It wasn't long after that, though, that he was able to find the Latin names of the ingredients in one book and cross-reference them to entries in the Latin book. Soon, everything became crystal clear.

* * *

After dinner, Harry watered the tree and then brought all of the ornaments they'd made, as well as the strings of garland, into the sitting room. He studied the fir tree, _his_ fir tree, cocking his head to the side in imitation of the bend in the trunk.

"I've never decorated a Christmas tree before," he said, tilting his head the other way.

"It is not difficult," Snape replied. "The ornaments go on first, then the garland."

"We don't have an angel."

"Pardon?" Snape asked.

"For the top of the tree. The Dursleys had an angel they put on top."

Snape reached into the basket filled with ornaments and pulled out a gold, star-shaped seedpod. "Engorgio," he murmured, followed by the lighting spell. "We always had a star atop our tree," Snape said, standing on tiptoe to place the large star at the tree's apex and using a sticking charm to keep it there. "How's that?"

"Brilliant," Harry said, admiring the glowing beacon.

As Harry hung the next several ornaments around the tree, he noticed that Snape was only watching. "Aren't you going to hang any?" he asked.

"I have done so before. I thought I would allow you the pleasure."

"Nah," Harry said. "It's fine. Come and help me. It's more fun to do it together."

Snape shrugged and reached into the basket, pulling out one of the apple-cinnamon stick ornaments. "This does smell like Hogwarts' apple pie," Snape remarked.

"Told you so. Smell this one," Harry said, handing Snape an orange studded with cloves.

"It reminds me of a spiced tea we used to drink at Christmas. Perhaps I will try and make us some. I don't remember the recipe, but I might be able to replicate it."

"You're a Potions master. If anyone can do it, you can, sir," Harry said, reaching up on tiptoes to try and hang a dried starfruit slice on a lonely branch that was sticking out near the top.

"Allow me," Snape said, plucking the ornament from Harry's hand and attaching it easily to the high branch.

"Thanks," Harry said. "I think I'll let you do the top of the tree. You're taller than me."

They finished decorating in companionable silence, the crackling of the fire in the grate providing the only sound in the room.

When the basket of ornaments was empty, Harry stepped back to admire their handiwork. "What do you think?" he asked Snape.

"It is your tree, Harry. Thus, it is your opinion that matters."

"I like it," Harry declared. "Let's add the garland."

Standing on opposite sides of the tree, Harry and Snape handed the long strings of garland back and forth. Soon they had wrapped the strands of bright white popcorn interspersed with brilliant red berries around the tree from top to bottom.

"You were right. I thought we'd made way too much garland, but it's barely enough." Harry tilted his head again, studying the tree. "There's only one thing missing."

"What is that?" Snape inquired.

"Lights."

* * *

Harry had gone to bed that night particularly relaxed. It had been a good day. He'd learned a bunch of stuff from Snape—and Snape hadn't even denigrated his intelligence once—and he'd decorated his first ever Christmas tree. He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermione about it. Ron would be startled that Snape could be so normal and do anything as frivolous as make Christmas decorations. Hermione would want to know about the spells he'd learned and the potion Snape had invented. Except that he couldn't tell them, could he? He had no way of contacting them.

He tried to picture their faces and was alarmed when he couldn't. At least not as clearly as he would have liked. How could it be possible to forget what they looked like? He knew he hadn't forgotten, per se, but he just couldn't bring their faces clearly to his mind. He could envision Hermione's curly hair and hear the tone of her voice. He could see Ron's red mop and his overlarge feet. He could even hear Ron's laugh. But their facial features were blurry.

He felt a sharp pang in his chest. He missed them so much. He missed the freedom of being able to talk to them whenever he wanted. Whenever he needed. And he'd never needed them so much as he did now.

He wasn't sure how much he'd really be able to tell them about what the Death Eaters had done to him, not in detail anyway. But he knew he could if he needed to. He knew they'd listen, they'd be there for him. They wouldn't turn away from him or judge him. They'd stood by him thus far, hadn't they? Through all the craziness that defined his life, they'd been there for him.

This was the first time since he'd arrived at Hogwarts that he hadn't been able to rely on them. There had been bad summers with the Dursleys, of course, but he always knew Ron and Hermione would be waiting for him on the other end of his time there. Now who knew when he'd be able to see them again. Would they forget about him? Give up on him? Make new friends and move on?

It was an awful thought, one that made him feel wretched and alone. As alone as he'd been in that cell. Alone except for the cruel sadistic guards and the one other prisoner who they'd tortured mercilessly.

Harry shook his head, forcing those thoughts away. The last thing he wanted to dwell on before he went to sleep was his time in the Death Eaters' clutches. Nothing good could come of that.

But his mood had crashed, what with missing his friends and remembering things he'd rather forget. He tried to focus on the Christmas tree, with its uniquely fragrant ornaments and hand-threaded garland, topped with the shining gold star. The tree Snape had made a reality for him. Instead of the warmth he'd expected that image to bring, it reminded him that this would be the first Christmas since he came to Hogwarts that he wouldn't be surrounded by his friends. Ron and Hermione would be celebrating without him, as would the rest of the Weasleys.

Looking over at the man sleeping in the bed a few feet away, he sighed. At least he wouldn't be all alone. Snape was here with him, and Dobby, too. But surely Snape would want to be somewhere else if he'd had a choice in the matter, not babysitting Harry Potter of all people. Harry fell asleep wondering just how much Snape resented Harry's intrusion into his private life.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"Harry Potter and Professor Snape is decorating a tree!" Dobby said, bouncing alongside Harry's bed. "Dobby is wanting to help, sirs. Dobby is bringing candy canes, sirs."

Harry stirred from his pile of blankets and reached for his glasses. Sliding them on his face, he propped himself up on one elbow, trying to get his sleepy eyes to focus. A tall stack of multi-colored striped boxes was floating in the air before him. Glancing down, he saw scrawny legs, knobby knees, and two differently colored and patterned socks.

"Dobby?" Harry groaned. "What time is it?"

"It is quarter past six, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is made breakfast already. Dobby is needing to return to Hogwarts now, sir. But Dobby is wanting to help Harry Potter and Professor Snape decorate their tree, sir."

Harry shook his head, as if testing to see if he was dreaming. When the boxes didn't disappear, he said, "Thanks, Dobby. You can leave them by the tree." Around a large yawn, Harry murmured, "I promise I'll hang them up right after breakfast."

"Dobby is happy to help, Harry Potter, sir. If Harry Potter is needing anything else, sir, he is only needing to let Dobby know."

"Mm, right," Harry mumbled, collapsing back onto his pillows. Moments later, he was snoring.

Snape had to restrain himself from laughing aloud. He got up, removed the sleeping boy's glasses, and pulled the covers up around him. He folded the circular frames and set them on the bedside table before returning to the novel he was reading by the early morning light.

* * *

"Where did all the candy canes come from?" Harry asked, gawking at the tall stack of boxes.

"You don't remember?"

Harry scratched his head. "Should I?"

Snape snorted. "Dobby woke you early this morning to let you know that he wanted to help you decorate."

Harry looked startled by the revelation.

"As I recall," Snape continued, sipping a cup of tea, "you promised him you'd hang them on the tree immediately after breakfast."

"Really? You aren't taking the mickey out of me?" Harry asked.

"Can you imagine me requesting such sweets? Or gifting you with them for the tree?"

Harry sniggered. "I suppose not, sir."

Harry picked up the box on top of the stack and pulled out a tray of oddly colored candy canes. "What the…?

"What is it?" Snape queried.

"These candy canes... There's lime with peas, cherries with pork roast, and bananas with leeks. Yuck!" Setting the tray down and pulling out another, he continued. "Here's radishes with smoked sausage and salmon with blue cheese. Who would eat these?"

"Your cousin might appreciate them," Snape commented dryly.

Harry glanced at Snape for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "He would, too."

Snape smirked and returned to the crossword puzzle in that day's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that Dobby was always so kind as to bring him.

"At least they're colorful," Harry said. It took him almost an hour to hang the plethora of oddly flavored curved sweets on the branches of the tree. Standing back, he clasped his hands together. "Well, it's definitely a unique tree."

"That it is," Snape mused. He'd almost returned to his crossword puzzle when he saw Harry's face fall. Leaning forward, he asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry murmured, but his gaze was averted and his shoulders had drooped. Any merriment that had been present a moment before had deserted the boy.

"Harry?"

"It's… nothing. I just…" Harry glanced up and opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again and shook his head. "I think I'll go take a shower now, if it's all right with you, sir."

Snape nodded, wondering what had soured the boy's mood.

* * *

"There are some potions I need to brew. Would you mind making lunch?"

"Sure," Harry replied. "Anything in particular you'd like?"

"You choose," Snape said, scratching absently at the underside of his wrist.

"What are you brewing?"

"A few standbys: Headache Helper, Stomach Settler, Acid Alleviator, Diarrhea Dissuader. Plus, some more Dreamless Sleep and Blood Replenishing Potion. It never hurts to have those on hand." Snape paused and looked at Harry critically. "And, Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Feel free to interrupt me if you… need anything."

Harry dropped his gaze. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Snape was referring to. The Potions master was worried that poking around the food stores would trigger one of Harry's _food episodes_. Swallowing against the tightness in this throat, he nodded.

"After lunch, I could use your assistance in the lab."

Harry nodded and began scrounging around in the kitchen. He found a large slab of beef in the cabinet that they kept cold with a cooling charm. Not for the first time, he wondered where their food came from. Different things appeared in the cabinets each day. Some items would remain a week or more, some would vanish overnight. It wasn't unusual to find fresh oranges on the table in the morning, to be mysteriously replaced by apples mid-afternoon, and bananas in the evening. Harry imagined the stock of a local grocery store magically disappearing off the shelves. He snickered to himself at the thought of a Muggle reaching for a can of peas only to have it vanish mid-grasp.

He pulled out the biggest pot they had and set it on the cooker before adding the large slab of beef. Then he peeled and quartered an onion and four carrots, adding them atop the roast. After preparing meals for the Dursleys for so many years, he didn't use recipes anymore. Cooking had become instinctual for him and he rather enjoyed the creativity it inspired.

Going through the cabinets once more, he found a bottle of burgundy cooking wine and added a splash of that to the pot, along with some water and a can of sliced mushrooms. Next, he seasoned the roast with a variety of spices. Then he covered the roast and spelled it to a low heat. It wouldn't be ready until the following day, as it would need to cook slowly overnight, but it would cover the next day's meals with roast beef sandwiches for lunch and beef roast for dinner.

In the meantime, he threw together a couple of ham sandwiches and began working on a large bowl of salad, tearing and adding lettuce to the bowl. Preparing food, Harry found, sometimes helped to take his mind off of things—like how Christmas was going to be without getting any gifts. It wouldn't be like Christmas at the Dursleys', he reminded himself, reaching for a bell pepper. Yes, he might not have any presents, but it wasn't because no one liked him. It was merely a consequence of the circumstances he found himself in.

And giving gifts was more important than receiving them—wasn't that what everyone said? Harry dumped the chopped peppers into the bowl, then brought a red onion to the cutting board and began dicing it. He _did_ have something for Snape, after all. He'd found the bag of gifts he'd bought in Hogsmeade in his trunk that had been transported with him to the safe house. Someone must have located the bag on the street after he'd been kidnapped and figured out it was his.

So what if Snape didn't have anything for him? Snape had already been amazingly generous with his birthday gifts to Harry that past summer, not to mention everything else the man had done for him since then. He wiped his sleeve across his burning eyes—damn onions—and grabbed a cucumber, slicing it with more force than was strictly necessary.

He had managed ten _years_ without gifts, he chastised himself, dumping in the cucumber bits and grabbing a carrot to peel it. He felt guilty and selfish to be fretting over something as trivial as Christmas presents. But a part of him, perhaps the unloved young child part of him, saw those small tokens bestowed upon him as a reassurance of his worth, a checkmark in a box that said someone, somewhere, cared about him. Those gifts, no matter how small, reiterated that he had something he hadn't had all those years with the Dursleys: _friends_.

Sighing, he pitched the carrots into the salad and seized the tomatoes, breaking one off the bunch. He tried to force back the loneliness that made his soul ache. He _did_ have friends, friends who cared about him, even if he couldn't be with them at present. They'd wait for him, wouldn't they? Wouldn't they?

"Lunch is ready, I see."

Harry jumped, hissing in pain as the knife he was using to cut tomatoes sliced into his hand. Instinctively, he fisted his hand and held it to his chest.

Long, cool fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling the injured flesh out into the open.

"My apologies for startling you, Harry," Snape said as he waved his wand, healing the deep gash instantly. "I should have announced myself."

Harry let out his breath, the pain vanishing instantly with Snape's healing spell. "It's all right, sir," he said, flexing his healed hand. "I should have been paying more attention."

Snape gave him an odd look before releasing his wrist. "The bases for all of the potions are finished. After lunch, we can brew the final products."

"All right," Harry said as he set out plates and cutlery.

A mostly silent lunch was followed by an even quieter afternoon brewing.

"Something on your mind, Harry?" Snape asked after restraining Harry's hand for a third time from adding the wrong ingredient to his cauldron.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, dropping his hands to his sides. It was no use; he couldn't concentrate. It was a mark of Snape's uncharacteristic forbearance that the Potions master hadn't taken to yelling at him for his lack of focus.

"Clean up your station, Harry. I will finish these potions."

Harry set about cleaning the tools he'd used and putting ingredients away. He felt Snape's eyes on him but he couldn't tell the man what was bothering him. What was he supposed to say? _You've been really good to me and all, but clearly something is wrong with me because it's not enough. I know you've been trying really hard, but I miss my friends and I can't bear to think of spending Christmas with you instead of them._ It sounded pathetic and childish, not to mention highly ungrateful, even to his own ears.

Feeling disgusted with himself, he made his way to the kitchen table and slumped into a chair, his head in his hands. He didn't feel like eating, he didn't feel like sleeping. He didn't feel like doing anything. Even the sight of sunshine outside and a newly decorated Christmas tree in the next room weren't enough to lift his spirits at the moment. Sighing, he let his head fall to the table and felt even more wretched for feeling sorry for himself.

* * *

Severus awoke to weak rays of light streaming in through the bedroom window. He stretched languidly before rubbing at the underside of his wrist—the damn skin there had been bothering him for the last day or two, and the ointment he'd put on it hadn't helped any. Ignoring the irksome itch, he bit back a yawn, relieved that Harry'd managed to sleep through the night without the help of any potions. It was a rare occurrence, as Harry was usually restless in his sleep, the nights fraught with cries and tangled sheets even if he didn't wake to full consciousness.

Staring up at the ceiling, Severus reflected on the previous day. Harry had been unusually quiet and distracted. Something had clearly been bothering the boy but he hadn't wanted to tell Severus. Either that, or he simply hadn't been able to. Severus didn't doubt that many horrific memories still played on the boy's mind, and it would take time for the boy to heal. _Patience_ , Snape reminded himself. Except that patience was _not_ one of his stronger suits. He only hoped that whatever was ailing the boy would either have resolved itself, or that Harry'd be able to address it head on today.

At just after six in the morning, it was much too early for the boy to be awake yet, giving Severus time to shower, have a cup of coffee, and catch up on the day's news. As he sat up to get out of bed, he glanced toward the camp bed where Harry slept, his mind already filling in the image of the boy's tousled dark hair, mouth hanging open as he snored lightly, the covers wildly askew.

Except that the camp bed was empty.

Severus frowned and listened for sounds from the WC, but all was silent. A small twinge of unease fluttered in his stomach. Grabbing his wand off the nightstand, he exited the room and glanced around. The door to the WC stood ajar.

"Harry?"

Severus made his way to the end of the short hallway. Perhaps the boy had finally decided to sleep in the second bedroom. He stuck his head inside to see the bed still made, the room as empty as it had been since Severus had relocated the potions lab to the pantry.

"Harry! Where are you?"

Sweat prickled warningly on his skin as he rushed down the stairs to the ground floor. Harry had never _not_ been in bed in the morning. He didn't like to be alone. Perhaps he'd gotten hungry and went to the kitchen. But the kitchen, as well as the pantry, the sitting room, the ground floor WC—even the closets—were empty.

His heart beginning to pound painfully against his ribs, Snape said, "Hominum revelio."

Only a single light glowed—the one that outlined his own silhouette.

Severus stood frozen, wand still outstretched. Blood thundered in his ears as a metallic taste flooded his mouth. On the verge of his knees giving out beneath him, he stumbled to the sofa, his mind reeling. He was completely unprepared for the overwhelming fear and panic that consumed him.

 _Harry Potter was missing._

* * *

The chill of the damp, hard ground soaked into Harry's skin. He was cold, so cold. His teeth chattered and his limbs shook as he dug his hands into his armpits. His feet had long since gone numb. Even with his knees pulled tight to his chest and his body huddled into itself, he didn't seem able to get warm.

Images pushed their way forward, laced with terror. He remembered being in that other place, chained and naked, hungry and cold. The guards would come throughout the day and night to taunt and torment him. One of their favorite things to do was to pour buckets of ice water over his already chilled body. Sometimes they'd deluge him with the icy fluid all at once. Other times, they'd drip it over him slowly, just to watch him thrash against the chains, trying futilely to get away. Still other times they'd hold ice cubes to his flesh, laughing as sobbed and writhed in pain.

But this place wasn't the same as that place had been. It was completely silent, and the walls were different. Furthermore, he could see a barren landscape bathed in dusky grey light. He'd not had any sense of time or place when he'd been in that other place. And here, no one had come to torture him. At least not yet.

His stomach rumbled with hunger and sleep dragged at his consciousness, but those sensations paled in comparison to the biting, agonizing cold. It seared every inch of exposed skin, the chill paradoxically burning his flesh. His hands ached terribly, as had his ears and feet before he'd lost feeling in them.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been here, or even where _here_ was. He had a vague sense that something had happened, but he couldn't remember what. There had been fear and adrenaline, and maybe even hope? Had there really been hope? Or maybe it was loneliness masquerading as hope. He wasn't sure anymore. Everything seemed so far away. Trying to think was like slogging through mud.

He knew he should try to escape while he had the chance, while no one was there to stop him, but he was so tired and his body didn't seem to want to cooperate. Plus, it was getting harder and harder to breathe, as if the same thick sludge in his brain was filling his lungs as well.

Perhaps he'd been drugged. That made sense. It would explain why he couldn't think straight or get his limbs to move. And why he just wanted to sleep. Why was he fighting sleep anyway? If only he had a blanket...


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

* * *

A/N: Merry Christmas! Here's a gift: the next chapter early! That said, I don't know when I'll be posting the chapter after this one, but it will be sometime in the near future.

* * *

Severus was mere moments from summoning Dobby to alert Dumbledore and the entire Order of the Phoenix that Harry was missing when he caught a glimpse of the garden shed through the sitting room window, its doors ajar. A quick glance toward the back door confirmed his suspicion: Harry's coat was gone.

Jumping to his feet, Severus stalked to the window to take a closer look. There, inside the shed, he could just make out a dark huddled shape— _Harry bloody Potter_. He strode to the back door, yanked the heavy cloak off the peg, and thrust his arms into the sleeves. Then he jammed on hat and gloves as he wrenched open the door and stomped outside.

His jaw clenched, he could practically feel the steam coming out of his ears. Livid would have been an understatement. Technically, Harry had done nothing wrong—he hadn't left the property, he hadn't disobeyed any direct orders. He'd merely gone outside. Before sunrise. Without leaving so much as a by-your-leave. Damn the boy for scaring him witless!

Severus tried to get a grip on his anger as he walked hastily toward the shed. The cool wind bit at his face. Why the hell was Harry out here, anyway? And at this time in the morning? And why hadn't he awoken Severus if he needed something so badly that he went to the magical shed for it?

Gulping in breaths of frigid air, he flexed his fingers, reminding himself over and over that Harry didn't deserve his temper. But damn the boy to hell for taking ten years off his life! A simple note would have sufficed.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped into the entrance of the shed to see the boy sitting on the cold ground, trembling.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing out here?" he demanded. When the boy didn't respond, he snapped, "Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"

Harry's head came up slowly, unsteadily. Bloodshot pale-green eyes gazed, unseeing, out of a deathly pale face. His lips were a dusky blue hue.

"Harry," Snape gasped, rushing forward and squatting before the child to check his vitals. Harry's pulse was weak and his breathing was shallow.

"Bloody fucking hell! I need blankets!" Snape roared.

Stacks of blankets appeared on the floor of the shed. Severus grabbed them up one at a time and shook them out, wrapping one hastily around the boy's shoulders and legs before adding three more.

"S-s-s-soooo… c-c-cold…" Harry mumbled, then shook his head, as if to clear it.

Snape tore off his hat and put it on Harry's head, pulling it down over the boy's forehead and ears. Then he ripped off his gloves and tried to slide Harry's hand inside, but the fingers were stiff and frozen. Swearing, Severus transfigured them into mittens and slid them over the blue fingers.

"Can't f-f-feel my f-f-face…"

"What are you even doing out here?" Severus asked. He spotted Harry's glasses beside the boy and pocketed them, before scooping the shaking teen into his arms.

"Dunno," Harry mumbled.

Severus shuddered at the unfocused look in Harry's eyes and pulled one of the blankets up over the boy's head as he exited the shed into the frigid winter air.

"You're bloody lucky I found you, Potter. If I'd slept another hour, you'd be dead," Severus muttered. "Stupid, insufferable, child. Of all the idiotic things to do. In the middle of winter, no less."

Severus continued to vent, knowing full well that Harry wouldn't remember any of it. What had the boy been thinking? Had he no common sense at all?

As Severus rushed to the house, he catalogued what he had on hand to treat hypothermia. It wasn't a problem he'd thought to plan for. Madam Pomfrey had plenty of potions in stock—potions that he had brewed himself—for the stupid children who spent too much time outdoors in winter and ended up with frostbite, among other things.

And there was his answer, wasn't it? Settling the shivering child onto the couch, Snape shouted, "Dobby!"

* * *

"Drink this," Snape said, forcing a smoking potion into Harry's thawing hands.

"Hurts," Harry breathed, trying to flex stiff fingers around the vial.

"I'm sure it does," Snape replied, his voice lacking sympathy as anger still spiked through his veins. "That's what you get for trying to imitate an iceberg."

Harry drank the potion and then averted his eyes. "Sorry."

"Care to tell me what you were doing out there?" Snape bit out.

Harry sucked his pink lips between his teeth and tipped his head back, eyes closed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

 _Oh dear Merlin, don't you_ dare _cry_ , Snape thought. He was too angry to deal with Potter's self-recriminations.

"You could have got yourself killed!" Snape snapped. "If I hadn't found you when I did…" Snape cursed and turned away. "If you were a Muggle, you would have lost your hands and feet to frostbite, at the very least. You do know what hypothermia is, don't you, Potter?"

Harry flinched. "Don't call me that," he said, his voice a broken whisper.

Snape cursed again. "Tell me what inspired such idiocy. _Harry_."

Harry flexed his feet and winced. He was lounging on the couch, still covered in blankets and still wearing Snape's hat. Snape had conjured hot packs and charmed them to stay warm before stuffing them into the boy's armpits and groin, followed by packing them around his torso, chest, and neck.

Snape waited, his agitation growing now that Harry was out of immediate danger—at least from the weather.

"I was missing my friends," Harry murmured.

"And what the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?" Snape practically roared.

"I…" Harry trailed off, averting his gaze.

Leaning over the boy, his nostrils flared, Snape said, "You what?"

"I asked the shed for Ron and Hermione."

Snape stared, too stunned to react for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, his tone was incredulous. "You asked an inanimate object to produce two living, breathing human beings?"

Harry nodded.

Snape stood up and shook his head. Repeatedly. Of all the asinine, imbecilic things to do. He turned and walked out of the room to prevent himself from strangling the fool child, muttering obscenities all the way.

In the kitchen, he leaned against a worktop and stared at his hands, which still shook from the letdown of adrenaline. He concentrated on breathing—slowly and rhythmically—through his nose. He knew his anger and intolerance stemmed from his fear. Fear of the boy having been abducted again—and right under his nose—to the fear of how close Harry had come to doing himself irreparable damage due to the cold. His anger might not have been rational, but it certainly was _real_.

He needed to calm down and he needed to cut Harry some slack, but he wasn't quite capable of that at the moment. Harry would just have to wait.

He forced himself to unclench his jaw, lest he give himself a headache. Then, his hands still shaking, he prepared a warm mug of hot chocolate for the idiot child in the next room. He added a splash of pain reliever to it, as well as a nerve regenerating tonic that would aid the frostbite and core temperature recovery potions he'd already given the boy. The chocolate would mask the bad flavor somewhat, as he didn't have the patience to listen to any complaints.

He debated adding a Sleeping Draught to the mix just to give himself some time to stew, but decided against it. The boy would just have to listen to Snape's invective until he got it out of his system.

On second thought, Snape grabbed a vial of Calming Draught and downed it. Then he made a cup of hot chocolate for himself and added a sufficient amount of brandy to it. At least one of them would be warm, he mused mulishly.

Drinks in hand, he made his way back to the sitting room, the vein in his temple twitching.

* * *

Harry was finally starting to feel a bit better. The potions Snape had given him had brought his core temperature up, as they had been intended to, and the other potions had slowly reversed the frostbite that had deadened the skin of his extremities. But with the return of feeling came pain: severe, sharp pain; pins and needles pain; and burning agony pain.

He knew he'd been stupid. And he knew Snape was livid with him. But he hadn't meant to almost freeze to death. He bit tongue to keep from crying out as his fingers and toes throbbed and ached mercilessly. He tried, unsuccessfully, to prevent the tears from falling. When he failed at this, he turned away, burying his face in the blankets and trying to keep from sobbing.

"Harry."

A hand gripped his chin lightly and pulled his face up. Obsidian eyes stared into his watery ones.

"Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?" Snape said, his voice sounding exasperated.

"Didn't want to make you more angry," Harry muttered.

"Silly child," Snape mumbled before producing a potion vial. "Drink this," he instructed. "It won't take away all the pain—nerve pain is the hardest to treat—but it should make it more bearable."

"Thanks," Harry said, draining the vial and handing it back to the Potions master.

Snape nodded and returned to the chair by the fire, picking up his book and ignoring Harry once more.

Harry leaned back against the pillows and waited for the potion to take effect. He thought back on what he'd been through in the last several hours. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, as his memory was still a bit fuzzy.

He remembered what had awoken him, though: _those eyes_ —pale blue and wide, their pupils dilated in terror. Just the memory of them made him shudder. He couldn't think about them without cringing, much less talk about them. Not yet, anyway. He wasn't ready. He wasn't sure he'd _ever_ be ready. But one thing was for sure: he couldn't go back to sleep after seeing them.

He'd lain in bed for hours after that, those eyes gazing unceasingly at him. Unable to escape them, he'd jolted from bed and headed downstairs. He'd paced for a while, hands jammed in his pajama pants pockets, until a thought had occurred to him. The shed! He could ask for Ron and Hermione! It was four in the morning, they'd be tucked up in their beds. No one would miss them. And he wouldn't have to deal with this all alone! He couldn't tell them what had prompted him to summon them, of course, but just having them with him would make everything all right. It always did.

He'd hurried to the back door and pulled on the warm coat there, then headed out into the garden. The cold metal of the shed's door handles had chilled his hands and he'd promptly stuffed them back inside his coat pockets as soon as he'd got the doors open. Then he'd stood confidently in the center of the shed.

"I need Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," he'd stated clearly, waiting for them to pop into existence.

He'd envisioned their surprised expressions quickly morphing into ones of joy. _"Harry!"_ they'd shout in Hermione would pull him into a tight embrace and Ron would clap him on the back. They'd be full of questions about his well-being and they'd tell him all about what was happening at Hogwarts. It would be brilliant!

When nothing happened, he'd repeated his instruction. "Please bring Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger here, right now."

His heart pounding, a smile stretched wide on his lips, he'd rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting for one bushy brown-haired head and one red head to pop into existence.

"Ron?" he'd called. "Hermione?"

The rush of excitement and anticipation had begun to fade as he stood, all alone, in the middle of the shed in the dark and cold before dawn. He didn't want to admit what was staring him right in the face.

They weren't coming.

The shed had failed him.

"Hedwig?" he'd said, his hope crashing around him. "Can you at least give me Hedwig?" he'd begged.

The wind had whistled against the sides of the shed. A few dead leaves were blown inside, circling and swirling in an eddy against the ground, lit only by faint moonlight.

Desperation and despair had swelled within him.

He'd sunk to the ground, naught but a hollow shell _,_ pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

 _They weren't coming._

In his grief, he'd lost track of time. Lost track of hope. Lost track of his sanity.

 _No one was coming._

His only reality had been the core of empty, endless ice—within and without—that had taken root in his soul.

 _He was all alone._

Just him and those pale, blue eyes: condemning, reproachful.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"At least you cooked yesterday," Snape grumbled as he carried the large pot of beef roast into the sitting room where Harry lounged on the sofa, still recovering from his bout with hypothermia. "It smells delicious," Snape added tersely, as if the compliment was given begrudgingly. He watched as Snape set the pot, still covered, in the center of the coffee table.

Snape went back to the kitchen and returned with bread, butter, hot tea, bowls, cutlery, and napkins, all of which he placed on the coffee table between them.

When Snape dropped the last bowl onto the table and cursed, Harry's focus sharpened. Snape's face was contorted in a grimace as he dug his fingernails into his inner wrist in a manner that seemed quite vicious to Harry.

"Sir? Is something wrong with your arm?"

Snape shot Harry a glare and pulled his sleeve down further.

"That's the arm your Mark is on, isn't it?"

Looking annoyed, Snape nodded curtly.

"Is the snake bothering you?" Harry asked.

"It's nothing," Snape hissed.

Harry shifted into a more upright position. "May I see it?" Seeing Snape's reluctance, Harry added, "If it is the snake, I can talk to it, see what's up. Otherwise, it will just keep bugging you."

Snape gazed at Harry intently before letting out a put-upon sigh. He stepped over to the sofa and sat on the coffee table in front of the boy. Then he thrust out his arm, the action causing his sleeve to ride up, exposing his inner wrist. He fisted his fingers, making the muscle and tendons there flex and strain. The snake lay curled against his skin, which was red and raw from being scratched.

Slowly, Harry reached out and took Snape's wrist in his hand. He pulled the man's arm a little closer, studying the snake. Then he began speaking to it in Parseltongue.

Snape sat still, his expression shifting from annoyed to transfixed.

"It wants to stretch a bit," Harry said. "It's uncomfortable being confined to a tight coil."

Snape cocked an eyebrow.

"Mind if I give it permission to move around?" Harry asked.

"As long as it doesn't rejoin the skull and reactivate the Mark," Snape replied.

Harry conveyed the message, and soon the snake's head popped up, its tongue flicking out as if to taste Snape's flesh.

Then, slowly, it began to uncoil, its long body undulating and shifting across Snape's skin.

Snape shivered.

It slithered up and down Snape's arm, and then tested out each of Snape's fingers. Finally, it settled around Snape's wrist like a bracelet, the head and tail intertwined at the base of Snape's hand.

"How's that?" Harry asked Snape.

Snape raised his arm and twisted it back and forth, studying the snake cuff he now sported. "Disturbing and intriguing all at the same time," he murmured.

"Is it still bothersome?"

"No, not at all," Snape said. Meeting Harry's gaze, he said, "Thank you."

Harry gave Snape a tentative smile. They were far from even, Harry knew, considering Snape had just saved his life—again—but at least Harry could give the man something in return.

"If it bothers you again, let me know. Yeah?"

Snape grunted and reached for the lid on the beef roast.

* * *

Snape's stomach growled as he ladled out a portion of beef roast for each of them. He handed a bowl and fork to Harry, and then turned away to slice the bread, slathering a couple of pieces with butter, just as Harry liked it. When he turned back toward Harry to ask how many pieces the boy wanted, he froze.

Harry was trembling, his face pale, his gaze a million miles away.

Before Snape could even ask what was wrong, Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his head shaking back and forth furiously. "I can't eat this," he whispered.

Harry's hands were quivering so badly that Snape barely managed to set down the plate of bread and rescue the bowl of roast before it spilled in Harry's lap.

"Please don't make me eat this," Harry begged, a shudder wracking his body. "Please. I can't…"

"Harry," Snape interrupted, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder as he began to keen. "Shhh… calm yourself. You don't have to eat anything you don't want to. I promise. Now breathe."

As Harry wrapped his arms around himself and fought to normalize his breathing, Snape banished the roast back to the kitchen. _So much for lunch_ , he thought. He sat back down on the coffee table, elbows on his knees, chin in his cupped hands, and waited.

When Harry finally glanced up, his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "I thought…" Harry said, his voice breaking. "I thought if I prepared the meal myself, I'd be able to stomach it. But I can't." Harry lowered his gaze. "I just… can't." After a moment, and in a much quieter voice, he added, "I used to love beef roast."

Perplexed, Snape inquired, "What set you off?"

"The carrots," Harry moaned. "They reminded me of… of…" Harry raised his face skyward, blinking to hold back the tears. "Of _his_ fingers. Chopped up." Losing the battle, Harry dropped his head into his hands and began to sob.

 _Well, hell,_ Snape thought. "Budge over," Snape said. He moved to sit behind Harry, jamming himself in the space between the boy and the arm of the sofa. Then he pulled the lad into his arms.

"I hate this," Harry cried, his voice muffled against Snape's shirt. "I can't do anything right anymore."

"You have done plenty _right,_ " Snape corrected. "You kept yourself alive. And sane." _Which was more than that poor Muggle was able to do, apparently_ , Snape thought. "And you have the courage and strength to talk about it, which is far more than most witches and wizards are ever able to do."

"What good does it do?" Harry lamented. "I just want to forget it ever happened."

"Forgetting does not serve one well," Snape said, speaking from experience. "It only temporarily buries the pain and the memories." Sighing, Snape admitted, "If you don't deal with them now, Harry, they'll come back to haunt you, usually at the most inopportune times." As Harry's sobs quieted some, Snape transfigured a handkerchief from a napkin and handed it to the boy. "It is much better to work through them now, to integrate them into who you are, and move forward from there. You'll be much stronger and healthier for it."

"Is that what you did?" Harry asked, an inadvertent challenge.

Snape grunted. "Unfortunately, no. I am testament to what happens when you do _not_ deal with the things that happened to you. Trust me when I say it is _not_ a path you wish to travel."

Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled away from Snape and sat up. "I'm sorry about lunch, sir."

"It is of no consequence. We still have bread. Would you like a piece?"

"In a bit." Harry glanced up, and Snape could see a request in the boy's eyes before he voiced it. "Will you do me a favor?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"You sent the roast to the kitchen?" Snape nodded. "Will you go there and have some? You must be hungry and at least one of us should eat it. Maybe I'll be able to manage a roast beef sandwich later."

Snape studied the boy a moment in an effort to ascertain if it was wise to leave the boy alone for a moment. Coming to the conclusion that Harry was both sincere and emotionally stable, Snape replied, "As you wish." Then he patted Harry's knee and got up from the sofa. "Do try and eat some bread."

* * *

"It was very good," Snape said when he rejoined Harry in the sitting room twenty minutes later. After the latest food incident and Harry's breakdown, not to mention Harry helping him with the snake, Snape couldn't find it in himself to be angry with the boy any longer. Frustrated at times, exasperated at others, but not angry. "I didn't know you had a hidden talent for cooking."

Harry shrugged.

"I had something special planned for this evening, but given the events of this morning…" Snape said, pausing to take in Harry's sheepish expression, "it will have to wait until tomorrow. Assuming you are well enough, that is. In the meantime, you need to rest."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I will try and get some studying done." A moment later, Harry asked, "What is the date today?"

"The 19th of December," Snape responded. "Why do you ask?"

Harry bit his lip, and Snape felt his ire rise. "What harebrained scheme is rattling around in that head of yours now?"

"Not to push my luck, sir, but, er, I was wondering if it would be possible to…" Harry paused, looking nervous. Then in a rush, he said, "Have Dobby deliver the gifts I have for Ron and Hermione."

Harry's gaze held such stark hope and longing that it gave Snape pause.

"Let me give it some thought," Snape heard himself saying.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it."

Harry returned to his Charms book and Snape thought he looked the tiniest bit happier. Sighing, Snape shook his head and wondered if he was going soft.

* * *

Harry wasn't even tired but Snape had insisted he go to bed early. He'd spent the entire day lying on the sofa, after all. He might have argued, save for the fact that Snape wasn't in the best of moods given that morning's fiasco with the garden shed. Plus, it was a Dreamless Sleep potion night, and he knew that would knock him right out. Thus, he didn't protest when eight pm rolled around and Snape told him it was bedtime as if he was six instead of sixteen. He took his potion and fell asleep within minutes.

"Harry!"

Harry drifted slowly toward consciousness. Had someone called his name?

"Harry. Harry!"

 _Yes_ , Harry's muddled mind provided. Someone _was_ calling out to him.

"HARRY!"

Harry bolted upright, grabbing his wand instinctively as he recognized Snape's panicked voice. By the light of the hearth fire, he rapidly scanned the room, searching for the threat.

"Harry! Where are you?"

Harry's gaze locked unerringly on the source of the panic. Snape was thrashing in his bed, sweat glistening on his brow, his features twisted in torment.

"HARRY! Where are you?"

Jumping from his camp bed, he rushed to Snape's side. "I'm here, Professor. I'm right here."

"Harry! Harry! Where are you?"

Harry caught one of Snape's flailing hands and held it in both of his. "I'm right here, sir," Harry reiterated, giving Snape's hand a squeeze. "Right here," he repeated, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Snape's head lifted off the pillow as wild onyx eyes jerked open, frantically darting to and fro.

"I'm here, Professor. It's all right. It was just a dream."

It took a moment for Snape's gaze to focus on Harry. It seemed to take another moment for his awake brain to convince his half-asleep brain that it was, indeed, just a dream.

Snape groaned and let his head fall back. Harry let go of his hand.

Harry could see the frantic pulse beating in the older man's neck. "Are you all right, sir?"

Snape grunted and sat up in bed, throwing off the covers. Harry got out of the way as Snape sat himself on the edge of the bed, bare feet on the cold floor, head in his hands. His cascading black hair shielded his face from view.

Harry sat back down next to the man, not sure what he should say or do. Clearly the dream had disconcerted the man, and Harry knew how that felt.

"Sir?"

Snape's breathing was still labored when he finally spoke. "I couldn't find you."

"I'm right here," Harry soothed.

Snape shook his head, negating Harry's statement. "You weren't in the house. This morning. You weren't in your bed. You weren't on the ground floor. I searched everywhere. I was…" Snape exhaled loudly. "I thought they'd found you, taken you…"

Harry felt stunned. "You said they couldn't find us! You said it was safe here!"

A large hand settled on Harry's knee. "Calm yourself. You _are_ safe here." Snape took a deep breath and peered at Harry from between his fingers. "Fear is not always rational."

"Oh," Harry said. Then realization struck. "You were afraid," Harry breathed.

Snape dropped his hands and gazed directly at Harry. "I wasn't _afraid_ , Harry. I was bloody terrified. _"_

Harry blinked, their gazes still locked. "You were?"

"I was," Snape said, finally averting his eyes.

It struck Harry as so very odd to hear Snape admit such a human emotion. To him, Snape had always seemed unshakable, invincible. Nothing ever got to the man. Of all the things Harry had considered, fear had not entered his mind. No wonder he'd been so angry at Harry.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he meant it. "I promise not to leave the house again without letting you know first."

"I'd appreciate that," Snape said, running a hand through his lank hair.

A noise at the door had them both jumping and reaching for their wands.

"Dobby is sorry to be startling Professor Snape and Harry Potter, sirs. Dobby is making Sleepy Time tea for his masters. Dobby is bringing it to his masters so they can sleep, sirs."

Snape snorted. Harry exhaled in relief.

"Bed," Snape said, pointing Harry in that direction while accepting a cup of tea.

Harry took a cup as well and returned to his camp bed. He drank half of it and then settled back in to sleep. "Thanks, Dobby. Night, Professor."

"Goodnight, Harry."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Harry yawned and stretched, feeling much better that morning than he had the previous. He flexed his fingers and toes, immensely grateful for Snape's quick thinking and Dobby's help as he'd managed to avoid any permanent tissue damage due to frostbite from his bout with hypothermia the day before.

Snape wasn't in bed, so Harry made his way down to the kitchen where Snape sat with a mug of coffee in one hand, the Daily Prophet in the other.

"Morning." Harry took a clean plate out of the drying rack and scooped up some scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast that Dobby had left under a warming charm for their breakfast. Then he sat opposite Snape at the table.

Snape lowered the paper and Harry had to bite his lips and divert his eyes to keep himself from laughing out loud.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Snape asked, his voice a low grumble.

"Fine." Harry forked eggs into his mouth and tried not to look at his Potions master.

"Is something the matter, Harry?"

Harry glanced up and then promptly looked away. "No, sir," he said, but he knew his voice betrayed him as it quavered.

Seeming annoyed, Snape laid the paper flat on the table. "You are a terrible liar. Spit it out."

Harry burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, sir. The snake… it's around your eye," Harry said, using his index finger to draw a large circle around his own eye socket. Still giggling, he said. "Go look in the mirror."

Snape gave him an odd look and pushed himself to his feet.

A moment later, he returned from the water closet. "As amusing as you find this," Snape said, "I would appreciate it if you could ask it to relocate itself."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from making a cheeky comment. Glancing at the stoic man, he couldn't stop from guffawing. Snape looked absolutely ridiculous, which didn't it at all with his personality. Harry dropped his head into his hands, trying to control himself.

"When you are finished amusing yourself at my expense…"

Harry coughed and cleared his throat, trying to gain control of himself. "I am sorry, sir. Honest."

Snape grunted, but looked slightly amused himself. "Anytime now."

"All right, all right," Harry said, waving his hand and fighting a grin. "Why don't I teach you the word for "move". Then you won't need me if this happens again."

It took several tries for Snape to correctly mimic the hissing sound that Harry made, but finally Snape managed to say it correctly. Hissing the word for _move_ , Snape prodded the snake with his finger until it slithered off his face, down his neck, and somewhere out of sight beneath the his collar.

"At least it didn't happen in the middle of Potion class," Harry murmured, his lips still quirked up at the corners.

"Or over dinner in the Great Hall," Snape said.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "They'd be calling you _Snake Eye_ after that."

Snape groaned and Harry went back to eating his breakfast.

* * *

"There are two times of day this can be done. Right before sunrise and at twilight."

Harry walked beside Snape, their wands extended in their right hands, spray bottles in their left. Each spray bottle was filled with the "secret" potion that Snape had given Harry instructions to brew a few days earlier. Brewing it had been the easier part; figuring out what its properties were based on the ingredients, and what it was to be used for, had been the hard part. But now that Harry knew, he was eager to test it out.

The spell they'd enchanted was a strain of soothing musical notes that whispered on the wind, drawing them ever closer to their destination. Harry knew they were searching for something rare and wonderful; something few witches or wizards had the skill to find. Yet Snape seemed perfectly confident in his ability to locate the source of their adventure.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm still not sure what we are looking for. If the magic barrier is invisible, how will we find it?" Harry asked, cringing in anticipation of the insult to his intelligence that was likely to come his way.

Instead, Snape seemed pensive for a moment. "Did you ever blow soap bubbles when you were a child?"

"My cousin did."

"They are colorless, are they not?" Snape said, not waiting for an answer. "Yet you can still see them. Why is that?"

Harry thought about that. "I suspect it's because they are a bit oily and the light reflects off of them, so you can see colors. Like oil on the surface of a puddle," Harry replied.

"There is your answer. The magic will shimmer, and if you catch the light just right, you will be able to see the interplay of prismatic colors on the surface of the magical barrier."

Nodding, Harry squinted into the dusk. It was nearing full darkness and if they didn't find the grotto soon, they'd have to try the next morning.

Suddenly, Snape stopped beside him, throwing out an arm to halt Harry as well. "Just there," Snape said quietly. "Do you see it?"

Harry cocked his head, searching for any signs of magical disturbance.

Snape slipped behind him and put his hands on Harry's shoulder, turning him slightly.

"Straight ahead about 7 paces," he said.

And then Harry saw it. It was a very faint shimmer with just a touch of color glinting in the fading light. "I'd have never found that on my own."

Snape smirked. "Spray bottles at the ready. And remember what I told you. Keep your mind clear of negative thoughts, your body stance open and non-threatening. If talking is required, I will do so as I am the elder. It is a sign of respect for the young to remain quiet in the presence of their elders."

Harry nodded, holding his breath in anticipation. Hermione would be beside herself right now if she were here.

Carefully, Snape spoke the spell to open a portal between the Muggle and Magical realms of the forest. Then he slipped through the enchanted barrier, Harry close on his heels.

Once inside, Harry gasped in awe. Snape had told him what it was like, but mere words could not describe the wonder he felt. Pure magic embraced him, untouched and unsullied by other humans. It wrapped around his senses, making everything glow with life. He found himself grinning, his eyes wide as they took in his incredible surroundings.

All around him, lights danced in the trees, a testament to the magical creatures that called this place home. The temperature was at least 30 degrees warmer, around 50 degrees, and there was a touch of humidity in the air. Harry drew in a breath, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh earth and flower blossoms. A sound that he'd thought was a staticky hum when he'd entered the magical grotto transformed into a softly sung melody, the notes of music swirling around him in the glistening air.

Corkscrew hazelnut trees reached toward the sky, their upper branches covered in soft green leaves. Colorful blossoming vines wended their way up the curvy trunks, twining together in a symbiotic serenade. Colors reined here, mostly of the pastel variety, but they were stunning nonetheless.

Harry turned in a slow circle, careful not to touch. Instead, as Snape had instructed, he sought out the various cup-shaped blossoms that the delicate creatures slept and rested in when they weren't flying around or gathered together socializing.

He recognized the soft blue Canterbury bells that the mature male fairies favored, the soft pink calla lilies that the young fertile females preened upon, and the lavender cup and saucer vines that the young fertile males used to prance and posture. He swung his head around to locate the white-tipped magenta Addison's clematises that housed the mature females.

Climbing the hazelnut trees were bright yellow and orange flowers on trumpet vines that vibrated with the endless energy of young fairies. The only fairies that weren't present at this time of year were the infants. Snape had informed him that fairylets were born in the early spring and lived the first few weeks of their lives in the virginal white blossoms of the Lily of the Valley plant.

It was a sight to behold.

Snape had spent half the day explaining fairy genetics to Harry, as well as the various ways to identify their sex and age. He'd also described their mating behaviors. The mature males and females glowed a solid royal blue and deep magenta, respectively, and were past their reproductive prime. They were considered the wise elders and made all decisions regarding the tribe as a whole.

The fertile females shown pink and signaled their readiness to reproduce by blinking a unique individual pattern, called an _aria_ , to potential mates. In response, fertile males would mimic the _aria_ by flashing light blue to show their interest and availability. It was up to the female to choose a mate amongst the swaggering sires.

The premature fairies blazed yellow and peach for males and females, respectively, and the cadence to their blinking was completely random and often rambunctious. Meanwhile, fairylets glowed pure white, and they, as well as their nursing mothers, were considered untouchable by the tribe.

Harry turned to Snape who was crouching on the ground, gathering hellebore blossoms and various colorful mushrooms and fungi into a pouch around his waist. When he caught Harry gazing at him, he nodded and got to his feet. Snape had told him that all fairies this time of year were safe to collect for a period of up to ten days, after which time, they would need to be returned to their grotto. As Christmas was only five days away, their timing was perfect.

Snape gestured to a shallow rock basin filled with sparkling clear water where sprite-flies swam across the surface. Fairies of all ages were reaching out their tiny hands and snapping up the flies, popping them into their mouths with delight. Snape squatted down a little ways away and held his breath. Harry did the same. Together they waited as the fairies gazed suspiciously at them. When the fairy elders finally accepted their presence and returned to feeding, Snape and Harry let out their breaths.

Slowly, Snape reached out his left arm, laying his hand palm up on the ground, mere inches from the fairies. A young one approached, her peach light flashing merrily as she sniffed at Snape's broad, potion-stained thumb. Then, she scampered up onto Snape's palm and trotted right up his arm as if strolling along a tree branch. Snape turned the nozzle of the spray bottle in his other hand toward her and squeezed, releasing a puff of mist into her face. The fairy breathed in the scented vapor, smiled, and then fainted. Carefully, Snape picked up the sedated fairy and placed it in his basket.

Harry repeated Snape's actions. Together, they let the inquisitive fairies promenade trustingly up their arms, spraying them gently and tucking them away in the baskets they had brought. They settled the sleeping fairies on the soft fleece lining added for just that purpose. When Snape had deemed they had gathered enough, he cast warming and humidifying charms on the baskets and led Harry to the edge of the grotto where they slipped from the magical realm back into the cold, barren landscape of winter.

* * *

"That was amazing!" Harry said. "I never thought I'd see something like that. I didn't even know places like that existed."

Snape nodded as he removed another fairy from the basket and settled it on the tree.

Harry was eagerly doing the same. He couldn't wait to see it all lit up with fairy lights.

"What will keep them on the tree? Why won't they just fly away?" Harry had images of finding them all over the house and trying to coax them back to the Christmas tree.

"The potion," Snape replied. "It must be applied twice a day, morning and evening. In addition to acting as a light sedative and a nutrient potion, it also masks their sense of direction. Without that, they won't venture from the tree, afraid they wouldn't be able to find their way back."

Harry placed a blinking pink fairy on an upper branch. She winked at him and blew him a kiss.

"In addition," Snape said, "they release pheromones that help them to know what tribe they belong to. That helps the family clans stick together and recognize one another if accidentally separated."

"Ouch!" Harry shouted, shoving a flashing yellow fairy onto a lower branch. "It bit me!"

Snape laughed. "The young ones can be quite cheeky."

Harry glanced up to see a light blue fairy strutting back and forth on its branch, his hands on his narrow hips. It reminded Harry of Victor Crum, what with the disgruntled scowl on its tiny face.

The royal blue and magenta fairies—the mature males and females—were much more relaxed, lounging back on their fir perches with a sigh, as if relieved to have a break from trying to keep up with the younger ones.

"You might want to separate those," Snape said, placing a peach fairy delicately near the top of the tree.

Harry glanced to where Snape was pointing to find a light blue and a pink fairy holding hands and trying to sneak deeper into the tree.

"Oh no you don't," Harry said, picking up the couple and gently pulling them apart. The female pouted while the male made a lewd gesture. Harry laughed as he placed them in different parts of the tree.

"Thanks for this," Harry said, looking up to meet Snape's gaze.

"You're very welcome, Harry." Snape placed his last set of fairies on the tree—a yellow one and a royal blue one. "Finish up with yours and I'll try my hand at that spiced tea I mentioned."

Harry nodded, humming as he placed his last three fairies. He had to do a few adjustments to break up a couple of squabbling younger fairies and to separate another amorous couple. Then he took a step back to admire their work.

Snape returned ten minutes later and handed Harry a mug of tea before settling himself on the sofa.

Harry inhaled the scent of cinnamon and cloves, as well as a hint of citrus. Then he took a tentative a sip. "This is really good."

Snape Nox'd the candlelit sconces with his wand, leaving only the fairy lights and the fire to light the room. Harry took a seat on the sofa next to Snape and together they stared at the tree. The fairy lights twinkled mesmerizingly, and the homemade ornaments and garland took on an orange hue from the light of the blazing fire.

"I believe it is quite adequate," Snape proclaimed.

Harry titled his head and studied their crooked Christmas tree, a small smile on his face. He felt warm and content. _This_ _is what home feels like_ , he thought _._ "I think it's perfect."


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: This is a very dark chapter. You might wish to skip it. The next chapter will be much lighter, what with Christmas and all .

 **Chapter 25**

Severus awoke to Harry's orange ball of light bobbing over his bedside table, but no Harry. He glanced over to see a piece of parchment beneath the light with one word on it in Harry's messy scrawl: _Downstairs._ It was only 2am. If the boy had had a nightmare, it had been a silent one. Severus pushed reluctantly to his feet and made use of the loo before making his way to the ground floor.

He paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the sight before him. Harry was perched on the sofa, feet tucked up underneath him, leaning an elbow atop one sofa arm, his cheek resting on his hand. Flames from the fire cast dancing shadows across his face while the reflection of fairy lights glinted in his glassy eyes.

Severus slipped into the kitchen and made them each a mug of hot chocolate before joining Harry in the sitting room.

"Thanks," Harry said, accepting the cup of cocoa and meeting Severus's gaze only briefly in the exchange.

Severus took a seat in the chair nearest where Harry sat on the sofa and settled in to wait for Harry to speak his mind. As he sipped his hot chocolate, he contemplated the Christmas tree and all that Harry had accomplished so far.

Lessons hadn't been typical by any means, but Harry'd unknowingly studied Herbology gathering plants for potions ingredients, as well as various materials from nature to use as decorations for the tree. He'd learned new charms and transfiguration spells to change and enhance those materials into ornaments. He'd prepared the ingredients and brewed the potion for the capture and upkeep of the fairies, and he'd successfully identified what the potion was to be used for with only the help of books and his own deduction skills. He'd had a lesson in Care of Magical Creatures with regard to the fairies and their natural habitat, as well as how to care for them. That left Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Snape had a plan for that, too, but Harry wasn't ready for it quite yet. Maybe they'd work on that after Christmas.

Returning his gaze to the Boy Who Lived, Severus saw such sorrow in Harry's eyes that it made him ache in places he hadn't in years: not since Lily herself had been killed. Harry was still so young. Much too young for all he'd been through, and that was _before_ he'd been kidnapped. Sighing, Severus set down his hot cocoa and leaned back in his chair. If Harry wasn't ready to talk about what haunted him yet, at least he wouldn't have to suffer alone.

* * *

Harry glanced furtively at Snape. Snape, who'd gotten up in the middle of the night to check on him. Snape, who hadn't even complained about the interruption to his sleep once again. Snape, who brought him hot chocolate and now sat patiently waiting for Harry to tell him why they were in the sitting room at two in the morning.

Sighing, Harry said: "When I close my eyes, I see _him_." His voice was nearly a whisper in the dark. He took a deep breath and shifted on the sofa, gazing morosely into the fire.

 _Eyes._

 _Pale blue._

 _Wide._

 _Pupils dilated in terror._

"Sometimes he's still there when I open them," Harry added.

 _Eyes that watched him._

 _Waited for him._

 _Eyes that accused him._

 _Blamed him._

"It's what drove me to the shed that night. I couldn't get him out of my head, couldn't get away from him."

 _Eyes that haunted him._

"And tonight?" Snape asked.

"He's here," Harry said softly. "His eyes are the twinkling blue lights of the fairies. His face moves in the flames of the fire." Harry turned a pleading gaze toward Snape. "I couldn't help him. I couldn't even help myself."

"Tell me what happened," Snape said, his voice soft, inviting, non-judgmental.

"It was my last night in the cell. The night before I was… before you rescued me." Harry clenched his hands together and gritted his teeth. He didn't want to talk about this, but he knew he needed to. He closed his eyes, remembering.

"Sometimes there were lights in the cell, other times not. Bad things happened regardless, but it was worse in the dark. The uncertainty of what they might do next was terrifying." Harry shuddered, remembering the feel of unwelcome hands on his cold flesh.

"That night, the last night, they tortured him first. Before me, I mean." Harry knew he'd never be able to forget the man's tormented screams. "After awhile, he went quiet. They didn't come for me right away. I heard them moving around his cell, but I didn't know what they were doing. It took them so long, I thought maybe they'd leave me alone that night."

Harry sucked in a breath and fought back the remembered fear, the tears, the bile that rose in his throat when he thought about it. He vaguely felt the sofa dip beside him. A warm hand settled over his clasped ones. He grabbed Snape's hand, holding onto it like a lifeline.

"They doused the lights in my cell. Then I heard the door scrape open and the footsteps of heavy boots. It was pitch black, so I couldn't see anything, but I could smell blood." He had smelled other things, too, piss and shit, but it didn't bear mentioning. "They were arguing about something, but not in English, so I didn't know what they were saying. Two of them sounded happy but the third one sounded upset. I heard the cell open and close again, and then footsteps on the stairs. One of them had left."

Harry sucked in a breath. "I don't know what they had exactly, pieces of wood or maybe bats, but they started swinging. I don't think they could see, either, because sometimes their weapons got caught up in the chains that held me down. One of them lit a fag, which must have given them enough light to see by because the blows started landing more regularly."

The hand holding Harry's squeezed his and Harry was grateful for it.

"That was bad enough, but then the man with the fag decided it would be more fun to burn me, which is why I have the circular scars." Harry reached automatically with his free hand to touch the burn scar next to his left eye. He shook his head, pushing away the memories of how he'd shouted himself hoarse and how they'd beaten him until he'd pissed himself. After all, the physical abuse paled in comparison to what came next.

"At some point, I must have passed out. Or maybe they hit me in the head until they knocked me unconscious. All I know is that when I woke up…" Harry's voice broke and he faltered. "When I woke up… the cell was all lit up… and… and…" His throat closed and he began to tremble, shaking his head in denial.

"Get it out, Harry. It'll be better that way, I promise," Snape said, his voice soothing.

Harry felt Snape switch hands, taking Harry's hand in his right one, while draping his left arm over Harry's shoulder to pull him in tight, sheltering him from what was to come.

" _He_ was staring at me," Harry breathed, fighting the urge to be sick. "His eyes were open… and he was… staring right at me."

 _Empty eyes._

 _Frozen in time._

Harry gulped in air, his eyes squeezed shut as he forced himself to go on.

"They had… cut off his head," he sobbed. "They had positioned me so that when I woke up, it was the first thing—the only thing—I'd see."

 _Dead eyes._

 _Condemning eyes._

Harry buried his face in Snape's chest and sobbed.

"I couldn't save him," Harry murmured desperately. "They tortured him to torture me." Harry wailed in desperation. "They killed him because of me. All because of me."

Two arms were around Harry now, holding him close and squeezing him tight. A deep voice was murmuring words of comfort into his hair, but Harry was sobbing too hard to understand them. Still, he clung to Snape like a man drowning, as if Snape could save him, could absolve him of his sins. For nothing else had been able to.

* * *

Harry was finally asleep. It had taken several hours and a couple of potions, and Harry had ended up in bed beside him, but the child slept. Severus, meanwhile, lay awake, feeling troubled. That Harry had survived such torture and remained sane was a testament to the boy's strength. Yet how Dumbledore expected him to turn Harry into a killing machine was beyond him. Harry might be recovering, but he was nowhere near ready to face the Dark Lord and, if the boy was forced to, Severus feared Harry's tentative hold on reality might snap altogether.

They'd already asked far too much of this child. Why did Harry have to be the one to kill the Dark Lord? Why on earth couldn't someone else do it? An _adult_ for instance. Snape cursed. Wasn't that what the Order of the Phoenix and Aurors were for? Yet Dumbledore had refused to elaborate, insisting that it was absolutely essential that Harry be the one to do it. Well, Dumbledore never said the boy couldn't have help. And if Severus could save Harry from having the stain of murder on his soul, Severus would gladly do it.

In the meantime, though, he had to come up with a way for Harry to put his guilt over that Muggle to rest. It had taken him most of the night to come up with a workable idea and, if Harry was amenable, it might just work.

Severus closed his eyes and willed sleep to come.

* * *

When Severus next opened his eyes, Harry was lying on his back staring numbly at the ceiling. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and he looked pale and drained. Any hope that the conversation of the night before had lanced an infected wound drained away.

Severus rolled to his side to face Harry, who was clear on the other side of the bed. "Can you still see him?" There was no need to specify who _he_ was.

Harry shrugged.

Severus took that as a yes. "I thought of something that might help." When Harry didn't respond, Severus explained his idea at length. Although Harry remained motionless, aside from breathing and blinking, Severus knew he listened. "What do you think?"

Harry turned to look at Severus, his eyes troubled. "It's worth a try."

* * *

Harry stood beside Snape in the kitchen, a shallow porcelain bowl of potion on the table in front of him. Snape had walked Harry through the complicated steps of making a temporary Pensieve, but Harry's mind felt like a sieve and he knew he wouldn't remember any of it.

"I will walk you through the retrieval, Harry. Are you ready?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded. He knew what he needed to do. Holding his wand, he raised his shaking hand to his temple. Snape stood slightly behind him, one hand resting on Harry's shoulder, the other hand clasping Harry's wand hand to hold it steady.

"Concentrate first on what he looked like. See him in your mind's eye. When you have his image, push it toward your wand."

Harry fought the urge to vomit as the sight of dead, accusing eyes assaulted him all over again. He let out an involuntary cry.

"You can do this," Snape coached, squeezing Harry's shoulder in support. "I won't let you fail."

Taking a steadying breath, Harry gathered the image in his mind's eye and pushed it toward his wand tip.

"Now, bring forth any other sensory memories you have of him. The sound of his voice, his scent, anything you associate with him."

Harry shook with the memories of the man he couldn't save. He wanted to push Snape away and run. Run far away from him, from _this_. It was only by reminding himself over and over that Snape was trying to help him, trying to take this pain away from him, that Harry was able to force himself to relive those awful days. Cold, naked, chained, alone. Beaten, burned, starved. Listening to another man's tortured screams and cries for help. Tasting the man's fear. Being told to choose— _him or me_. Harry pushed the misery toward his wand, wrapping his free arm around his stomach as he hunched over.

"Almost done." Snape's voice was very near Harry's ear. "Now, think about how helpless you felt. How you were powerless to help him, to save him. Grasp onto your guilt and regret. Channel your sorrow. Push all of those feelings into your wand, Harry."

Tears streaming down his face, Harry forced the strands of memory from his mind into his wand.

"Now let them go, child. Set them free," Snape urged. "He won't be forgotten, I promise."

Harry released the last tethered strands and felt Snape jerk Harry's hand and wand toward the bowl on the table. Then, he was falling into darkness, the effort taking too high a toll on him, both mentally and magically.

He awoke cradled in Snape's lap, with Snape sitting on the floor cross-legged beneath him. Snape's eyes were closed, his head bowed, his mouth turned down in a frown of concern as he softly hummed "Amazing Grace" while rocking Harry back and forth.

Harry soaked in the comfort and security, letting the minutes go by. When he finally moved, Snape's eyes snapped open. Snape stopped humming and helped Harry sit up, shifting Harry to sit on the floor beside him.

"Did it work?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded. "We still need to seal the memories into a vial. Would you like me to do that for you?"

Harry nodded and pushed to his feet, collapsing into a chair at the table.

Snape used Harry's wand to draw the swirling fluid into a glass vial. "Did you think of a name for him?"

Harry took a deep breath. "When I think about him, the name David comes to mind. I was thinking of something common for his surname, like Smith." Harry scrubbed at the tears on his cheeks.

"That is a fine name," Snape said. He took a seat next to Harry. "For the unbreakable charm I told you about, the only one who will be able to open the vial without destroying its contents is the one who casts the charm. Have you decided how you'd like to do this part?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Will you cast it with me?"

"Of course," Snape said, and together they sealed the vial.

Harry picked it up gently from the table, weighing it in his hand. Using his wand, he inscribed the name _David_ on it.

"Shall we?" Snape asked.

Nodding, Harry pushed up from the table and followed Snape to the back door where they both dressed in warm clothes.

Once outside, Harry walked the perimeter of the garden until he found a spot that was somewhat secluded so as not to be readily disturbed, but that also had sun most of the day. He didn't know how long David had been in the dank, dark cell next to his before Harry arrived but he rather thought the man would prefer to spend eternity in the sunlight.

"Here," Harry said, squatting down in the frozen grass and pointing to the spot he'd chosen. "We can plant flowers for him here in the spring."

Snape used his wand to draw a circle on the ground and Harry watched as a core of frozen dirt rose out of the earth at Snape's behest.

Tears in his eyes, Harry leaned forward and let the vial slip from his fingers. "I'm sorry you had to suffer because of me, David," he whispered, his voice choked. "I hope you are at peace now. I won't forget your sacrifice."

Snape knelt down beside Harry. "Rest in peace, David." With Harry's nod of permission, Snape returned the cylinder of dirt to the hole, shearing off the portion that stood above the ground.

His vision blurry, Harry picked up a rock and transfigured it into a headstone. He painstakingly carved each letter of the name that Harry had given the man into the stone, as well as the year, before placing it over the makeshift grave.

Harry rested his hand on the memorial for a moment and then accepted Snape's hand up, wiping way his tears as he stood. "Thank you," he murmured.

Snape nodded and together they stared down at the grave marker.

"I think this will help," Harry said. "I can come here and talk to him if I need to, but I don't have to keep him with me all the time anymore to honor his memory. He's safe here and he won't be forgotten."

When they headed back to the house, Harry felt a tiny bit lighter. Looking back one last time, he found himself echoing Snape's sentiments. "Rest in peace, David." After a moment, he added, "I hope I can now, too."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Harry awoke to a dull grey morning. The bed beside his was empty. Glancing across the room, he saw Snape sitting in the chair in the small cluster of furniture by the window, reading the day-old _Daily Prophet_ and drinking his morning cup of tea. While Snape didn't always wait for him to wake up anymore, after yesterday's emotional send-off for David, Harry wasn't surprised to find the professor still present.

"Morning," he said around a yawn.

Snape looked up from the paper and gave him a nod.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Harry asked, pushing back the covers to get out of bed.

"As it is Christmas Eve, I thought I would wait for you," Snape replied.

"Really? It's Christmas Eve already?" Harry got up and walked over to where Snape sat to look out the window. The ground was barren and brown. "So much for a white Christmas."

"Have faith," Snape said.

"Is it supposed to snow?" asked Harry.

"Perhaps," Snape said. He turned the page of the paper.

"Anything interesting in that rag lately?" Harry asked, scratching the back of his neck.

"Not particularly," Snape said. "Although, I suppose we should be glad of it." He folded the paper and set it aside. "Shall we have breakfast?"

"Give me a sec to use the loo. I'll be right down." Harry dashed off to the WC. It was _Christmas eve_!Ever since he'd escaped the Dursleys, Christmas had become something he'd actually looked forward to. A break from classes, gifts from friends… Well, even if he didn't get any gifts this Christmas, he'd make the best of it. After all, he _did_ have a gift for Snape. And if Snape let him use Dobby, perhaps Dobby could get Harry's gifts to Ron and Hermione. That reminded him that he needed to go through his trunk and find a Christmas gift for Dobby as well.

Harry entered the kitchen to the sounds of Christmas music. "I didn't know we had a radio."

Snape glanced up at his entrance. "It appears that your favorite house-elf has been busy."

"Dobby brought it for us?"

"As well as several other things, including these," Snape said, pushing a box toward Harry.

Harry untied the ribbon and found a veritable treasure chest inside. He looked up at Snape and grinned. "Want to help me?" He pulled out several jars of colored sugar, a couple of jars of sprinkles, tiny edible stars that sparkled, and an assortment of metal biscuit cutters in a variety of holiday shapes.

Snape took the lid off that morning's breakfast and began to serve himself. "I have some potions I need to brew this morning. Our stocks are getting low."

Harry gave a mock pout and held up a metal reindeer, tilting it back and forth to make it look like it was prancing through the air.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Eat your breakfast, then you can make the biscuits. If I finish in time, I might be persuaded to help you decorate them."

Harry smiled. "Deal!"

As Harry helped himself to eggs and bacon, he glanced at Snape. The man seemed to be in a good enough mood. "Sir, I was thinking…"

Snape cocked an eyebrow and paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Well, er, I was wondering if you might let me use Dobby to deliver my gifts to Ron and Hermione. Secretly, of course. In the middle of the night." Harry held his breath as he waited for Snape's answer.

"I have considered it and came to the same conclusion. If Dobby is willing and agrees to be exceedingly careful, you may ask him."

"Yes!" Harry crooned.

Snape shook his head and returned to his eggs and bacon.

* * *

When Severus exited the pantry-turned-potions lab later that day, it was to find Harry in the kitchen, covered in flour. The scent of warm, baked bread filled the air. The worktops were covered with trays of cooling sugar biscuits, as well as a number of carefully constructed mince pies.

"You've been busy," Severus observed.

"Yeah, I've been in the kitchen most of the day," Harry said, pulling a leg of roasted lamb out of the oven. "Your timing is perfect, by the way. Dinner is almost ready."

"It looks like you've gone all out."

"Well," Harry said, "I like cooking. Especially for you since you appreciate it." Harry ducked his head, but Snape didn't miss the heat that blossomed in his cheeks.

"I do appreciate it," Severus said. "You are a good cook."

"Thanks," Harry said as he retrieved the jacket potatoes from the oven and began laying the food out on the able while Severus laid out the place settings.

Severus leaned over the roast lamb, sniffing delicately. "What type of sauce did you use for the lamb?"

"A marsala wine and mushroom sauce," Harry asked. "It's my favorite. I asked Dobby for the ingredients."

Severus nodded. "And the bread?"

"Rosemary and garlic."

"I'm impressed," Severus said.

Harry gave a tentative smile as he placed the jacket potatoes and steamed asparagus spears on the table.

If Severus had learned anything, it was that the boy was nearly as bowled over by compliments as Dobby the house-elves was. No doubt Harry had never been complimented for anything growing up with those disgraceful Muggles. Taking his seat, Severus began to fill his plate. Everything looked and smelled delicious.

"Sir, if you don't me asking, did you do anything special on Christmas Eve growing up?"

As Severus picked up his fork, he considered Harry's question. "My mother used to take me to church on Christmas eve. We'd walk from our house on the edge of town to the town square. The houses along the way would be lit up with Christmas trees and decorations in their windows."

Severus remembered wrapping his arms around himself to fight off the cold, his jacket never quite warm enough, his breath misting the air. "By the time we'd arrived, it would be full dark and carolers would be gathered in the square, just starting to sing. We'd join them for a bit, before my mother ushered us into the church for the service."

"I've never been to a church service," Harry said.

"We only went a couple of times a year. Christmas and Easter. I didn't mind it." Severus took a bite of lamb and nearly sighed with pleasure. "This is excellent, Harry."

"Thanks, I was hoping you'd like it."

"I do," Snape responded before continuing where he'd left off. "After church, we'd walk around the square and look at all the shops to see which ones had the best holiday displays. My mother would point out the things she liked and wax poetic on what she would do with such luxuries. She encouraged me to do the same with toys and such." He didn't bother mentioning that such extravagancies would never appear under the tree Christmas morning. They were much too poor for that, and what little money they did have, his father spent on alcohol.

"Mum would sing Christmas songs all the way home," Snape reminisced. "She had the most beautiful voice." Severus glanced up in time to see Harry avert his eyes. "Your mother had a beautiful voice, too."

"She did?" Harry asked, looking at Snape as if his answer held the promise of Christmas in it.

Severus nodded. "She didn't sing often. She was too embarrassed for that. But I'd catch her humming quite frequently, and once in a while, when she was in a particularly carefree mood, she'd sing." And oh how beautiful she'd looked when she did.

"I wish I could have known her," Harry said.

Snape didn't respond. What could he say to that?

A few moments passed as they ate their food before Snape said, "Is there anything special you'd like to do this evening?"

"I was thinking that maybe we could decorate the Christmas biscuits and then, if it's not too late, play a game maybe? Cards or chess or something."

Severus helped himself to some more potatoes. "That would be acceptable. Are you skilled at chess?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm terrible actually. Ron always beats me."

"Hmm," Severus said, rubbing his chin. "Perhaps cards would suit better, then."

"I don't know many card games," Harry said, "but I'm more than willing to learn."

Severus rather enjoyed the discussion that ensued as they talked about the various card games they knew, the strategies involved, and which ones were more worthy than others. In the end, it was agreed that Harry would let Snape teach him the Russian card game Durak if Snape agreed to decorate the Christmas biscuits with him.

Inwardly, Severus was pleased. He wasn't quite sure how Harry would handle Christmas without his friends, but Harry seemed to be bearing up reasonably well. And, with what Severus had planned, he hoped that Harry's Christmas wouldn't be the worst one yet, even though they were secluded from the outside world with only each other for company.

* * *

"What are we going to do with all these biscuits?" Harry asked, sucking the icing off his fingers.

Snape scowled and handed him a flannel.

Harry laughed. "Live a little," Harry encouraged, ignoring the flannel. At Snape's glower, he went to the sink to wash his hands before pulling over the next tray of sugar biscuits.

"Perhaps you could send some to your friends," Snape suggested.

"Hmmm. Hermione's parents are dentists, they don't let her eat sugar. I'll send some to the Weasleys though." As Harry iced a snowman, he glanced over to Snape's tray of biscuits.

Snape had transfigured the various Christmas shapes into steaming cauldron shapes. He'd iced all of the cauldrons black and the steam issuing from them white. At the moment, he was busy adding all manner of colored sugars, sprinkles, twinkling stars, and other toppings to the iced steam.

"You would decorate your biscuits like that," Harry commented.

Snape merely smirked.

Harry transfigured a few of his own biscuits into Gryffindor lions, but then realized he wasn't skilled enough to decorate them, so he switched them to broomsticks and Snitches instead.

By the time all of the sugar biscuits were decorated, they had a wide array of themes other than Christmas, including Quidditch, potions, a Hogwarts castle, some Slytherin snakes, a few unicorns, and Harry's feeble attempt at a blast-ended skrewt, which he planned to send to Ron.

Biscuits done, they cleaned up the kitchen and moved to the sitting room. Harry brought along the Wizarding radio that Dobby had provided that morning and set it atop the mantel. As Snape didn't complain, Harry assumed he was enjoying the holiday music as well.

Snape enlarged the coffee table to make it into a card table and changed the two loungers into hard-back chairs. Harry took a seat and waited for Snape to explain the rules.

"Have you played any card games that have a trump suit?" Snape asked as he quickly riffled through the deck, removing all of the 2's, 3's, 4's, and 5's.

"I don't think so," Harry responded.

Snape nodded. "The majority of games that have a trump suit require more than two players." He shuffled the remaining cards. "A trump suit is simply a normal suit that has been elevated above the rank of other suits. In some games, the trump suit is fixed."

Snape dealt out six cards to each of them. "In others, like Durak, it depends upon the card that is drawn." He flipped over the top card on the deck: a Nine of Hearts. Sliding it beneath the draw pile so that the number and suit peeked out from beneath, he said, "Hearts will be our trump suit this round."

Harry listened intently to the rules of the game. It seemed easy enough. They played a couple of open hands before Harry was ready to play for real.

"So the penalty for losing the hand, or being the Durak…" Harry began.

"Durak means 'fool' in Russian," Snape said.

Harry glanced up from his cards. "You waited to tell me that until I lost three times in a row, didn't you?"

Snape smirked. "Once a fool, always a fool."

"Oh, do shut it," Harry said around a laugh. "I will beat you yet. But, as I was saying, the only penalty for being a Durak is to deal the next hand?"

"For now," Snape said. "Once you get a handle on the game, I am sure we can come up with more creative consequences."

"You're on," Harry said, laying down a low trump to force Snape to take the cards in play.

Snape grinned and beat Harry four more times before Harry was able to win a hand. Snape nodded in concession and rose from the table. He returned with a plate of sugar biscuits and a bottle of Advocaat. He poured them each a generous serving before returning to his seat.

After Harry took a sip, a mustache of white froth lingered above his upper lip. "Wow, this is really good."

"I like it as well," Snape said.

"What's in it?" Harry asked as Snape dealt the next hand.

"Eggs, honey, and brandy. It's also referred to as Dutch eggnog." Snape flipped over the Jack of Spades.

When Harry drained half the glass, Snape raised a brow. "I recommend you drink it slowly. It will go to your head much faster than you expect."

"Yeah?" Feeling reckless, Harry took another swallow. "I understand the rules now. So what's the next penalty for being the Durak?"

"So sure of your skills, are you?"

"No, but I think this," Harry raised his glass, "will help."

Snape snorted. "It may make you less inhibited, at the very least."

"I reckon so," Harry said, his grin sloppy. He picked up a smoking cauldron biscuit and popped it into his mouth. "I haven't really drunk alcohol before. My head feels a bit… fuzzy. Buzzy. Muzzy. Something."

Snape laughed. "Your turn," he said, pointing to the playing cards.

By the end of the night, Harry had loudly sung all of the Christmas carols he knew (Snape had only had to sing two as Durak), kissed one of the fairies, and danced and twirled around the room. He ended up collapsed onto the sofa in a fit of giggles.

"I believe that's more than enough Advocaat for you," Snape said.

"Yeah," Harry yawned. "I'm knackered."

Snape stood and began to clean up the table. "Say goodnight to the fairies, then, and off to bed with you."

Harry rolled off the couch and walked over to the crooked Christmas tree. Several of the young female fairies were running their hands through their hair and sighing while interested young males puffed out their chests and flexed their muscles. Meanwhile, the yellow and peach youngsters were flashing completely erratically. One feisty young fairy had crawled up the star atop the tree and was dancing on it. Harry giggled. "Night, night, merry fairies!"

Snape stepped up beside Harry and cast a spell to reinforce the sticking charm on the star before removing the fairy child and settling her somewhere safer.

Something in Harry's periphery caught his attention, and as he turned his head, he gasped. "Look! It's snowing!" Harry watched agog as big white flakes floated softly to the ground where they joined a patchwork quilt of white fluff.

Snape joined Harry at the window, where the many colored fairy lights glinted in reflection. "So it is."

They watched the snow fall for a while before Snape took Harry by the shoulders and turned him toward the stairs. "Time for bed."

Harry hummed in time to the radio as he made his way to the landing.

"Oh, and Harry?"

Harry spun to face Snape, but the motion made his head spin. He grabbed the banister to keep from falling over.

"Drink two glasses of water before bed. Alcohol causes dehydration and you'll wake up with a headache Christmas morning if you don't."

"Yes, sir," Harry said with a salute. Then he made his way up the stairs singing a butchered version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas." "Five moldy things, four falling turds, three wench hens, two curdled gloves, and a niffler with a gold key."

Snape's laughter rang out behind him.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

It was still snowing when Severus opened his eyes the next morning. Harry would be pleased. Speaking of which, he was surprised to find the boy still asleep. Didn't all children, regardless of age, wake up well before the adults on Christmas morn? Then again, Harry had drunk enough Advocaat to make him silly the night before. At least the boy had taken his advice and drank water before he fell asleep.

Severus slipped out of bed and used the loo before filling Harry's water pitcher and a glass and leaving both on his bedside table. Then, he settled back into bed with a book to wait for Harry to awaken. It wasn't until he slid his legs under the covers that he noticed two small wrapped packages on the pillow beside him.

Bemused, he picked them up to investigate. While he had made sure that Harry would have gifts, he hadn't been expecting any himself. He cast a few charms on them to make sure they were safe—even though he knew they'd have never made it through the wards if they were not. Reassured, he set them back on the pillow and waited. Loath as he was to admit it, he was looking forward to seeing Harry's reaction to the gifts Severus had procured for him.

It was nearly an hour later before Harry rolled over and turned his bleary gaze on Snape, then the foot of his bed. "Oi! Presents!"

"You got your wish for a white Christmas as well," Severus said.

"I did?" Harry jumped out of bed and went to the window. "Wow. There's even snow on the ground! We are definitely _not_ in England." Harry turned his attention back to Snape. "Happy Christmas, Professor."

"Happy Christmas to you as well, Harry."

Harry clasped his hands and rocked back on his heels. "Can we open our presents now?"

"Of course," Severus said, more interested in watching Harry than opening the few trifles he'd received, however unexpected they were.

Harry darted back to his bed and drank the glass of water that Severus had left for him. "I wasn't really expecting any gifts. Not here. Save for Dobby's."

"Ah, so that is who I have to thank for these," Severus said, holding up the two wrapped packages for Harry to see. "I suspect I anticipated receiving gifts even less than you."

Harry rooted through his pile. He picked up a lumpy package and squeezed it. "This feels like a Weasley jumper, but how…"

Severus cleared his throat. "I may also have enlisted the help of one particularly resourceful house-elf."

"Dobby!" Harry proclaimed.

A loud pop sounded. "Harry Potter is calling Dobby, sir?"

"Oh," Harry said. "No, I didn't mean…" Then Harry's face lit up. "Hang on a minute, Dobby. I have something for you." Harry went to his trunk, pulled out a festively wrapped package, and handed it to the elf.

Dobby's eyes grew wide. "Harry Potter is giving Dobby a present," the elf keened with delight. Severus suddenly felt like a heel. He hadn't thought to get the elf a gift.

"Go on then," Harry encouraged.

With trembling fingers, Dobby opened the package to reveal a loosely knit scarf in Gryffindor colors.

"I know you have a ton of hats and socks, Dobby, so I thought you might like a scarf."

Glassy eyes gazed at Harry. "Oh, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is loving his new scarf, sir." Dobby ran the yarn through his fingers, his hands quivering. Then, very carefully, he wrapped it around and around his scrawny neck. "Dobby is never taking it off, sir. Dobby will cherish Harry Potter's gift forever, sir."

Harry smiled brightly. "I'm glad you like it, Dobby."

"Dobby is giving Master Harry Potter and Master Snape gifts, too. They is wrapped in gold and silver." Dobby watched, his fingers popping in and out of the knit weave of the scarf, as Harry picked up the package and unwrapped it.

Harry held up one bright yellow sock that had a dragon on it, the wings wrapping around the length of the knee-high sock. The other sock was dark red and only ankle-high. It had a golden lion caught in mid-roar across the top of the foot.

"Thanks, Dobby!" Harry slid the socks onto his feet and modeled them. "Look, they're perfect!"

While Dobby tittered with delight, Severus opened his own gold and silver package. It contained one black sock with a green snake winding from ankle to knee. The other sock was neon green and decorated with cauldrons in a variety of mind-numbingly bright, flashing colors.

Harry looked over and grinned. "Well, put them on, then."

Severus hid a grimace and slid the hideous things onto his feet. "Thank you, Dobby."

"Dobby is happy to serve Harry Potter and Professor Snape, sirs."

"You're the best, Dobby," Harry said, patting the elf on the shoulder.

After quite the emotional display of thanks from the elf, Dobby Disapparated.

Harry glanced over to Snape and burst out laughing.

"Is this a common occurrence?" Severus asked.

"It is," Harry said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "One year I gave Dobby a matching pair of socks and he said that there must have been some mistake because he'd got two of the same sock."

"I see," Snape said. "Do I need to wear these all day?"

"Definitely," Harry said, opening the other lumpy package and pulling out a navy blue jumper with a yellow broomstick on the front. He pulled it on over his pajama top. "Mrs. Weasley knits jumpers for everyone each Christmas. It's tradition."

"It matches well the spectacle that is your socks."

Harry stuck out a foot and pulled on the hem of his jumper. "I do make quite the fashion statement. Once we add the paper hats from the crackers, my Christmas outfit will be complete."

"I should have brought a camera," Snape said.

"I'm glad you didn't," Harry laughed. "Your turn. Open your other present."

Snape picked up the small rectangular package that was wrapped in green shiny paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Was it from Dumbledore, perhaps? He removed the ribbon first and set it aside before sliding a finger under a seam in the paper and carefully pulling the two ends a part. A small, ornate journal that radiated magic fell into his palm. Surprised, he opened it, wondering what the charm did.

"It's not much," Harry said, causing Severus to glance up in surprise. Harry had got _him_ a gift? "But I thought of you when I saw it. It's charmed so that when you write potions recipes in it, it will notice patterns in the potions and ingredients and point them out to you."

Snape sat stunned, staring at the journal, completely overwhelmed by Harry's thoughtfulness.

"It's probably stupid, now that I think about it," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck.

"No," Snape said, jerking his gaze up to Harry. "No, it's… I… thank you. It will be very useful." He paged through it, thinking about the various uses he could put it to and quite pleased that Harry had thought to get it for him. "When did you get this?"

"I purchased it in Hogsmeade the day that… the Death Eaters…" Harry trailed off, instinctively hunching in on himself.

Not wanting to ruin the day with memories of Harry's abduction, Snape closed the journal and held it close. "Thank you, Harry, truly. This is a fine gift and I appreciate it greatly."

"You like it? Really?" Harry asked, and Snape regretted that he wasn't better at these things.

"I do," he confirmed. "I was not expecting anything from you. It is a pleasant surprise."

Harry beamed at him. He unwrapped his next gift to find a book of European Quidditch teams. It had a self-updating spell on it that listed each team's players, their active roster, the players' positions, scores, and personal bests, as well as the current score of each match as it was being played. Harry deemed it 'brilliant'.

Hermione Granger had sent a veritable tome on practical defensive spells, potions, and charms with a note that she hoped it would help him in his "quest." Harry groaned but admitted it was a useful gift.

The last gift had a note that it was from both Ron and Hermione. Harry opened it to find a framed photograph of the three of them from the summer before. They were in Diagon Alley, in front of Flourish and Blotts. Ronald stood in the middle, the tallest of the three. He had an arm around Harry's and Hermione's shoulders as they stood on either side of him. They were bent forward, laughing, their eyes alight with humor and easy companionship.

Harry sucked in his breath and studied the photo for a long moment before pressing it to his chest. He closed his eyes and swallowed a few times.

Severus gave him some time to compose himself before he said, "You missed a gift."

When Harry opened his eyes, they were over bright with emotion. He looked at the photo once more and then set it on his bedside table facing him. "I've opened everything." At Snape's raised eyebrow, Harry glanced back to the foot of his bed, where another gift magically appeared.

Tentatively, Harry reached for it. Unlike his other presents, this one he opened carefully, as if whatever was inside might be fragile. He pulled out two leather-bound notebooks; one was midnight blue and the other was a deep cranberry red. The first two-thirds of the journals were blank. The last one-third had a rectangular hole cut out in the middle of the pages, a convenient place to hide something small.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"I know you've been missing your friends, Harry. I know it hasn't been easy for you to be trapped here with only myself for company." Severus ran his fingers over the ornately decorated cover of the small potions journal, feeling unaccountably nervous. "Since there isn't a way for them to visit you here, nor for you to leave, I thought you might like a way to communicate with them."

Harry sat up straighter, his gaze intense. "How do they work?"

"Mister Weasley has an identical copy of the blue journal, and Miss Granger has a copy of the burgundy one. You will be able to write back and forth to one another using the journals."

"And no one else will be able to read them? In case they get lost or stolen or something?"

"No. I had Dobby gather a few strands of hair from your friends and used a special potion and spell combination to bind the journals to their individual magical signatures. I also added extra protections to ensure that they are a secure and unbreachable means of communication."

"And the hole in the back pages?"

"Ah," Snape said, feeling smug. "That is in case you wish to pass objects back and forth. You need only shrink the item, set it inside your journal, and close the cover. The object will then relocate to the connected journal on the other end."

It took a moment, but then a radiant smile overtook Harry's face. Severus let out his breath in relief. He knew Harry would like the gifts, but… "Ooof." His thoughts were interrupted as he found his arms full of Harry Potter.

"You are brilliant, you know that?" Harry said, giving him a quick but fierce hug. Then, as if remembering himself, Harry stepped back. Still smiling, but seeming a bit chagrinned, he said, "Thanks. Just, thanks. You've no idea how much this means to me."

Snape nodded, feeling as if he'd finally done something right by the boy.

Gesturing to the notebooks, Harry said, "Would you mind if I wrote them a quick note? I know they're probably celebrating Christmas with their families, but I'd like to thank them for my gifts and wish them a Happy Christmas."

"You may, but before you do, we need to discuss some ground rules." Assured of Harry's full attention, Severus said, "You are not to mention where you are or that I am here with you. Likewise, avoid answering any such questions should your friends ask." He stopped to think a moment before adding, "Do not mention Dobby, either. If you are unsure as to whether you can write safely about something, ask me first, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, rummaging through his trunk for a quill and ink.

Excitement and happiness radiated off of Harry and Severus was beyond pleased that he'd put in the effort to make this happen. He had one other gift for the boy, but that could wait until after Harry had written to his friends. "I will leave you to it, then. Join me for breakfast when you are finished?"

"Yeah, I will," Harry said, still digging around in his trunk. As Snape made to leave the room, Harry glanced up. His eyes shone with gratitude. "Thanks again, Professor."

"You are welcome," Snape said, patting Harry on the shoulder as he strolled past.

* * *

Christmas carols were still playing on the radio when Harry came down for breakfast, which consisted of toast and fresh fruit, and very little of it at that. "I think this is the smallest breakfast we've had so far," Harry commented.

"If I had to guess," Snape said, "Dobby will be bringing Christmas trimmings from Hogwarts for lunch."

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "That makes sense." Harry tucked in and ate until he was full but not over-stuffed. "What shall we do today?"

"After you have watered the tree and taken care of the fairies, I thought we might try something I haven't done in a number of years."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Snape grimaced as if he was having second thoughts. "Ice skating."

"Really?" Harry asked. "Can you teach me? I've always wanted to give it a try."

"I will do my best."

Twenty minutes later, they were dressed in winter clothing and headed out to the shed. Once inside, Snape said, "Two pairs of wool socks and two pairs of ice skates, if you please."

Immediately two tan-colored boots with blades attached appeared in the center of the shed. Two sets of cream-colored wool socks appeared folded on top of them.

"Where are we skating?" Harry asked as he picked up the smaller pair of skates along with the socks.

"Do you remember the brook that we saw when we were searching for the fairy grotto?"

"Yeah, but, there isn't enough water in it to skate, is there?" Harry asked.

"The brook opens up into a pond a bit farther down. If I'm not mistaken, it should be sufficiently large and frozen."

"Wicked," Harry said.

It took them nearly half an hour to reach the pond and it was indeed plenty large to learn on. Harry breathed in the crisp winter air, missing his friends and Hogwarts, but relieved to be outside and doing something he'd always wanted to try.

There was a large, fallen tree near the edge of the makeshift ice rink. Snape stepped over it gracefully and proceeded to catch Harry as the younger tripped over it.

"I'm no longer sure this is the best idea," Snape teased. "You don't seem to be able to stay on your feet even without skates."

"That's not funny," Harry said, but he was laughing, too. He liked this more laid-back side of Snape. And surely there must be charms that could help him stay upright while he was learning. Although if Snape would teach them to Harry was another matter entirely.

Snape cleared the snow off the log and cast a warming charm on it. Then he sat down and removed his boots and socks, replacing them with the wool socks and skates instead. Harry followed suit.

After they'd both laced their skates, wrapping the long laces around their ankles several times and securing them, Snape cast anti-untying charms on the knots and helped Harry to his feet.

"I'm going to skate around a bit to get my feet under me," Snape said. "Then I should be able to help you."

Harry watched as Snape glided onto the snow-covered ice, a bit wobbly at first. After skating around the pond half a dozen times, Snape looked like a natural. Harry, meanwhile, had made it about a foot onto the ice before falling on his arse. Twice.

"How are you so good at Quidditch?" Snape asked, offering his arm to Harry.

"Riding a broom doesn't require me to use my feet for balance." Harry accepted the outstretched arm and hoisted himself precariously to his feet. He hastily grabbed onto Snape's arm with his other hand as well when his feet nearly slipped out from under him.

Snape chortled. "Good thing, too. All right, first things first. Stand with your feel shoulder-width apart and bend your knees slightly. Shift around a bit and feel for your center of balance."

Harry kept hold of Snape's arm with his left hand, but let go with other, holding his right arm out to the side for balance. He wobbled badly at first and almost fell. Once he managed to steady himself, he said, "Now what?"

"Now, relax. It's very difficult to skate if every muscle in your body is clenched tight."

"Easy for you to say," muttered Harry, but he took a deep breath and relaxed as much as he could.

"Now, lift one foot off the ice about an inch, set it back down, and lift the other. Do this until you feel comfortable."

"All right," Harry said, still holding tight to Snape's arm. This was much easier said than done, Harry reflected. First off, his feet felt like heavy bricks, anchoring him safely to the ice. Lifting one off the ice seemed like a sure way to lose what little balance he had.

Bracing himself, he lifted his right skate gingerly off the ice, wobbled on the remaining skate, slammed his foot back down to compensate, and overbalanced.

Snape raised his arm to help steady Harry, which Harry appreciated. He tried it a few more times, his confidence ebbing and flowing as he sometimes managed it well enough, and other times managed to just keep his feet from slipping out from under him.

"Now lean back," Snape directed.

Harry did so and promptly fell on his arse. "Hey!"

Snape snickered. "You will fall, Harry. You need to learn how."

Harry muttered and used Snape's arm to pull himself back to his feet.

"If you lean backwards while skating, you'll fall backwards. If you are going to fall backwards, make sure to bend your knees and land on your arse. Try it again."

"You're serious?" Harry asked.

At Snape's cocked brow, Harry sighed, bent his legs, and leaned back. "Happy?" he asked from the snow-covered ice.

"Very," Snape said with a smirk. "Now try to get up without my assistance."

Harry supposed Snape did have a point as he struggled to his feet, fell, and tried again. This time he managed to stand on his own, albeit unsteadily. He grabbed Snape's arm and locked his knees, waiting for his next instruction.

"Bend your knees and try to relax," Snape said.

"Right," Harry said, fighting his body's instinct to go rigid.

"Now, the next thing you need to know if you wish to spend your time upright on the ice is to keep your eyes trained forward, in the direction you want to go. If you constantly watch your feet, which beginners seem to like to do, you will fall."

"I'm pretty good at falling already, thanks," Harry said, rubbing his wet denim-covered arse.

"Luckily for you, ice is slippery, so falling is rarely painful."

Harry made a noncommittal noise and cast a drying charm on his wet denim-covered bum.

"Shall we try moving forward?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Yeah, all right. How do I do that?"

"Lift one foot, turn it sideways just a bit, put it back down on the ice, and push off. Then repeat with the other foot."

Although that sounded easy enough, Harry had learned that ice was a tricky beast. Cautiously, Harry did what Snape said and promptly sprawled on the ice. He glared up at Snape as the man laughed.

"This is the best entertainment I've had in ages," Snape said, chuckling

Harry mumbled something unkind under his breath as Snape pulled him to his feet. "Watch me."

Harry watched as Snape over-exaggerated the lifting of his feet and the pushing off. Then Snape returned to a more normal gait and glide and Harry could see how it was done. Not that he had any confidence he could do it himself just yet.

"Ready to try again?" Snape said, coming to a stop beside him.

"Yeah, let's give it a go." Harry clenched his hands in determination. He was going to get the hang of this.

It took about fifteen minutes, but Harry had managed to figure out the basics and was skating clumsily beside Snape, grabbing him for balance every few seconds, but managing a few strokes on his own.

At one point he'd somehow hit the serrated tip of the skate. He windmilled wildly and grabbed Snape at the last minute, managing to pull them both down onto the ice.

"Sorry!"

"If you need to fall, Harry, I'd prefer you not take me with you," Snape said, pushing to his feet.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," Snape said, brushing the snow off his trousers. Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "You have now reached the point where you have the skills you need to skate. You have also reached the point where you are a danger to your fellow skaters."

"Hey," Harry said. "I'm not that bad."

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "Show me."

"You don't ask for much, do you?" Harry mumbled. He steadied himself, took a deep breath, and pushed off. Slowly. This wasn't so bad. A few wobbles and a near fall, and he was doing all right. Until he hit the front edge of his skate again and went flying forward again.

Snape was still standing with his arms crossed, but now he was guffawing as well.

"What did I do wrong this time?" Harry groaned as he pushed himself to his feet and brushed the snow off himself.

"These are figure skates," Snape said. "They are easier to learn on than hockey skates as they have wider blades. However, they also have a toe pick at the front. Figure skaters use them to do jumps. You tilted your foot forward and caught the pick on the ice, thus catapulting yourself forward."

"Lucky me."

"Try again," Snape said. He dropped his arms and began to skate beside Harry, but not so near as to be within grabbing distance when Harry fell.

Which he did. Many more times. Forty minutes later, however, Harry was successfully skating around the pond—albeit slowly, but without falling.

"This is more tiring than I thought it would be," Harry observed, occasionally flinging his arms out wide for balance. Butt muscles he'd never noticed before were protesting and his feet were cramping, but he was upright and that was all that mattered at the moment.

"That is mostly because you are learning. Once you are more confident on your feet, it's actually quite relaxing."

"How long did it take you to learn?" Harry asked.

Snape frowned. "I've no idea, actually. My mother taught me when I was very young, probably around three years old. The city flooded the square every winter and skating was free."

"Can you do any tricks?" Harry asked, looking over at him as he did so, which caused him to lose his balance and topple onto the ice.

Snape helped him up. "Such as?"

"I don't know, skate backwards or something?" Harry asked.

Snape twisted his hips and legs, and then he was skating backwards in front of Harry.

"Wicked," Harry said with a grin. "Can you teach me to do that?"

"Once you get comfortable with skating forward," Snape said, turning to face front once more.

By the time they made their way back to the fallen log to change back into their Christmas socks and shoes, Harry was winded and hungry, but happy. He'd got the basics of ice skating down and had managed to skate around the rink with Snape while carrying on a conversation at the same time, without falling once.

Harry finished tying his shoes and glanced up at Snape, who was waiting for him, his hand extended to help Harry up.

Harry grinned and let Snape pull him up. "Thanks for teaching me to skate, sir."

Snape made a conciliatory noise in his throat and together they walked back to the safe house.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N 1: As I wrote this chapter, I realized this isn't going to be just a 3-part story. This is turning into a saga. The wounds Harry has suffered to his psyche won't just heal in the few months he's in the safe house with Snape. They'll plague him for a lifetime.

A/N 2: The first part of this chapter is about Christmas dinner and it's safe to read. The second part of this chapter, where Severus helps to heal Harry, is initially safe but diverges into a painful flashback of rape and torture and is quite dark. If you want to skip the dark parts, but still read the helpful parts and the rest of the chapter, start at the line "Severus considered his words before he spoke." Otherwise, feel free to skip it and I'll summarize what happened in the author's note of the next chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

Once inside the house, Harry and Snape hung their winter accouterments and left their skates and shoes by the shoe bin to dry.

"I'm starving," Harry said.

"Why don't you go take a quick shower and I'll see about lunch," Snape suggested.

"All right," Harry said. It was a bit of an odd suggestion for Snape to make, but he shrugged. He had been quite sweaty while trying to learn to skate. He took a quick sniff of his armpit and grimaced. Perhaps Snape could smell him.

When he returned, he found the table filled with more food than he'd ever seen at the safe house before. He reckoned they could have fed ten people with that spread.

"Dobby outdid himself, I see," Harry said.

"Perhaps he overheard you say that you were starving," Snape said with a smirk. "Come and sit. I believe we have Christmas crackers to open."

Harry plopped down in his chair, the smell of the food making his stomach rumble. "Do you want to go first?" Harry asked, picking up his red-and-gold-wrapped cracker and weighing it in his hands.

"You are younger," Snape said, reaching out his hand.

Harry handed him the one end and together they pulled the paper cracker apart. A satisfying _pop_ later, Harry opened his cracker to find three small individually wrapped Honeydukes chocolates, a Niffler figurine that was palming a gold coin, a ridiculous felt hat that made him look as though he had a large wrapped present sitting atop his head, and the obligatory bad joke.

"Why are Christmas trees so bad at sewing?" Harry asked.

"Hmmm…" Severus said. "It must have something to do with needles."

"Yep. Because they keep dropping their needles." Harry grinned and set the joke aside. "All right, your turn."

Snape held out his green and silver cracker and Harry took the other end. Together they pulled. Snape's had a louder-sounding crack and the small Honeydukes chocolates in his spilled out onto the table, along with a dragon with smoke spewing from its nostrils.

"Let's see your hat, then," Harry said.

Snape scowled and pulled out the brown felt hat. It took him a bit to untangle it but, once he did, he slid it over his hair, where a reindeer with tall antlers sat perched atop his head.

"Brilliant," said Harry. "Much more classy than mine."

Snape harrumphed and fished out his joke. "What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?"

Harry pondered the question but came up with nothing. "I don't know, what?"

"Frostbite."

Harry laughed. "That's pretty good."

Snape cocked an eyebrow but then smiled. "I've had much worse."

"Me too," Harry said, popping a chocolate in his mouth. "Can we eat?"

Snape nodded and Harry looked put some prawns on his plate for starters. "Oh! Don't forget we have mince pies for dessert."

"I believe we'll have enough dessert to last us for weeks," Snape said.

Glancing around the table, Harry had to agree. Aside from the main meal, there were four desserts: spotted dick, plum pudding, trifle, and a Christmas cake. Grinning, he took in the main course. A roasted goose garnished with currants lay in the center of the table. Spuds, roasted parsnips, and Brussels sprouts were the featured vegetables. There was also bread sauce, chestnut stuffing, gravy, pigs in a blanket, and the prawns they were now sampling.

To one side of him, a steaming wassail bowl was brimming with hot, mulled wine. Cloved oranges and cinnamon sticks floated in the delicious-smelling liquid. To the other side were a few tureens. He lifted the lid on each of them to find them filled with different thick cream soups. His stomach lurched in understanding as he set the lid back down. Those were for him in case he couldn't stomach the holiday feast. He pushed away the thought, determined for this to be a normal Christmas, food and all.

Lunch was, of course, delicious. The Hogwarts house-elves never disappointed when it came to food, and holiday meals were no exception. Harry ate his fill of the main course and, as he sipped his wassail, debated what to have for dessert.

Snape didn't seem to have the same problem with indecision that he did. A flick of his wand later and the plum pudding was floating in the air between them, alight with flames.

"May you enjoy your Christmas, Harry, and the year to come."

"You as well, sir," Harry said, watching as the food on the table slid to the sides, making way for the flaming dessert.

Once the fire had gone out, Snape cut each of them a small piece.

"I'm going to miss these meals once I leave Hogwarts," Harry remarked.

"You could always stay," Snape said. "Some do."

"As a teacher?"

Snape shrugged. "Teacher, research assistant, coach. There are many staff positions at Hogwarts."

Harry looked away. "Everyone wants me to be an Auror."

"And what do you want to be?"

Harry sighed. "I have no idea, but the idea of chasing bad guys for a living has lost its appeal."

"I imagine it has." Snape finished off the last bite of cake and drained his glass of mulled wine. "I reckon you still have plenty of time to decide."

"Yeah, that's what Ron says, too." Harry twirled his glass of wassail, watching as a stray clove was buffeted about by the dark liquid.

"Harry."

"Yeah?" Harry glanced up to see Snape looking at him strangely. He looked uncertain.

"I have another Christmas gift for you. I brewed you a potion." Snape paused and rubbed his chin, looking uncomfortable. "I do not wish to insult you. I merely thought that… perhaps…" Snape scrunched up his lips and his brow furrowed.

"What does it do?"

"I brewed it to, well, to erase your burn scars. If you wish."

"Really?" Harry felt suddenly giddy at the thought of being able to get rid of the horrid circular scars that decorated his skin. "That's brilliant, sir!"

At Harry's reaction, Snape's shoulders dropped and the stressed expression on his face vanished. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a transparent tub filled with a pearlescent peach-colored gel. "I wanted to help but I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do."

"Did you create the potion yourself?"

Snape nodded. "I tested it thoroughly and it appears to work as intended."

Harry squinted his eyes, suddenly suspicious. "How, exactly, did you test it?"

"I created similar burn marks with the tip of my wand and then used the potion to remove them. The results were sufficient."

Harry gaped. "You burned yourself to test a potion? For me?"

Snape shrugged off Harry's concern and got to his feet with the jar in hand.

"And they say I'm mental," Harry muttered.

"What was that?" Snape asked.

"Nothing, just, thank you, sir. I appreciate it. Although I would rather you tested it on me instead. It wasn't necessary to hurt yourself for no reason."

"I thought I had a rather good reason," Snape said. "Now, let us retire to the bathroom where there is a large mirror."

Once inside the small room, Snape instructed Harry to sit atop the vanity. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer to apply the potion to the burns on your face."

"Go ahead," Harry said, sitting up straighter. Instinctively, he placed his finger on the roughened round patch of skin that lay right beneath the corner of his right eye.

Snape conjured a hand mirror and gave it to Harry so Harry could watch Snape work.

"This is why I instructed you to take a shower, by the way," Snape said. "I wanted your skin to be clean."

"That makes sense," Harry said. "Will it hurt?"

"No. It feels cool upon application. It will tingle a bit as it penetrates the scar tissue. Then there is a sizzling sound, followed by a pop. Then it is over."

"All right, I'm ready." Contrary to Snape's reassurances, Harry still feared it would hurt. But even if it did, it would be worth it. His heart raced at the prospect of the awful scars being gone. He hated to think how he'd explain them when Ron and Hermione asked, much less everyone else.

"Take a deep breath and relax," Snape instructed as he dipped the middle finger of his right hand into the jar and came up with a small dollop of potion-y goo.

Harry held his breath as Snape's finger came toward him. He flinched and pulled away when Snape barely touched the skin near his eye. "Sorry. Maybe you could do the one on my temple first?"

"Of course," Snape said.

Holding the mirror in his hand, Harry watched as Snape directed his finger to the round scar on his temple near his hairline. He felt the cool gel touch his skin, followed by the tingling Snape mentioned. The sizzling was a bit disconcerting. The gel was literally eating away the scar tissue, like an acid or something. It didn't hurt, but it felt _odd_. A moment later there was a distinct _pop_.

Snape used a flannel to wipe away the potion and where the cigarette burn had been was now perfectly healthy skin.

"Wow." Harry ran his fingers over the healed skin. He felt his chest clench with emotion and his throat tighten. His eyes suddenly glassy, he looked up at Snape. "I can't thank you enough for this, Professor." He swallowed, trying to force the lump in his throat back down. "I thought I'd carry these scars with me for life."

Snape put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I am glad I could help, Harry. I'd have done it sooner, but…"

"No," Harry said. "This is perfect. It's the perfect Christmas gift. Thank you."

Snape nodded. "Shall I continue?" he asked, gesturing to the other burns on Harry's face.

"Yes, please do."

Harry watched as one burn mark after another disappeared. He felt a weight being lifted off his chest, as the physical reminders of his torture were removed, one by one.

"May I do the ones on your back as well?"

"Yes, please," Harry said, jumping down from the vanity and stripping off his shirt. His goofy hat came off as well. He held the shirt and hat balled up in his fists as Snape applied and removed the potion to each mark.

"Will it work on my other scars? Like the one on my cheek? And the one on my hand from Umbridge?"

Snape was silent a moment. "We can try, Harry, but I'm not sure. I brewed this specifically for burn scars."

Disappointment crashed over Harry. "If it doesn't, maybe I could use my wand to… to burn my skin… like you did…" Harry shuddered at the thought. "Then it should work, shouldn't it?"

Snape paused in his ministrations and came around to stand in front of Harry.

"You will _not_ burn yourself. I will find a salve to erase your other scars if you so desire, but I will not have you injuring yourself. Do you understand?"

"Well, I wasn't looking forward to it," Harry said in defense of himself.

"Good. Let me finish the ones on your back and neck, and then you can do your chest."

Within ten minutes, the burn scars on his upper body were gone. Harry felt ecstatic. Until he thought about the location of the scars below his hipline. His face must have shown his distress.

"What is it?" Snape asked.

"Can this be used _everywhere_?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and then comprehension dawned across his face. He frowned. "I would wish to dilute the potion if you were to use it on any skin that is particularly thin or tender. I can titrate the potion to various strengths. That way, you can start with the lowest strength first, and work your way up until you find a strength that works without causing damage."

"That sounds good," Harry said, not meeting Snape's eyes.

Snape put his fingers under Harry's chin and lifted his face. "You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. Nothing at all. What those monsters did to you reflects upon _them_ , not you. Never you."

Harry nodded. He knew Snape was right. But that didn't help the shame that overwhelmed him at the memories.

"Why don't I step outside and you can do the burns on your legs and feet. Let me know if you can't reach any, all right?"

After Snape left the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him, Harry stripped out of his trousers and applied the potion, as needed, to his legs and the tops of his feet. Then, with shaking hands, he shoved down his pants and kicked them off. He didn't want to look. It was silly, probably, but he'd avoided looking since he'd been rescued. He'd close his eyes or let them slide out of focus to avoid seeing the evidence of his torture. He didn't want to remember. The rest of the scars were bad enough, but this, here, it was too much. He let out an involuntary cry of protest at the injustice of it all.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." But he wasn't. He really wasn't.

Gathering his courage, he forced himself to take his flaccid penis into his shaking hands and glanced down. He had to pull apart the stretchy skin to find the circular marks. Gods, he didn't want to do this. He didn't want to remember them touching him there, in that dark, cold cell. Unbidden, the images came. One of the men, the taller one, the one with the lit cigarette dangling loosely from fingers or lips, had kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The men had shouted and laughed, prodded at him with hands and boots. Harry couldn't understand what they were saying, but it was clear they were mocking him, or his body, or both.

As Harry lay curled in on himself, trying to recover from having the wind knocked out of him, he felt fingers scrabbling against him, nails scoring his skin, searching for something. Then a hand was clawing at his penis, painfully digging it out from between his legs. Harry had screamed and tried to jerk away but his ankles and wrists were bound.

The man had laughed, his hand closing around Harry's member and squeezing.

Unable to get away, Harry had tried to make himself a moving target, but the man merely straddled Harry's thighs and sat on him, effectively holding him in place, while his other captor placed a booted foot on his chest. Then the first man had begun to stroke him.

"No," Harry said, just as he'd said then. "No! Stop! Stop it! Stop it!"

In the distance, someone was pounding on the door and calling his name.

Harry dropped to his knees and bent over, sobbing. "Stop it, please. Stop. STOP!"

* * *

Severus's heart raced as sweat trickled down his back. This was why he hadn't been sure that giving Harry the scar potion was a good idea. He hadn't been sure the boy was ready. Clearly, he wasn't.

Snape summoned a blanket from the sitting room and wrapped it around the boy, who was huddled on the floor, naked, trembling, and sobbing. Snape helped him to his feet and then cast a Featherlight Charm on him before sweeping the young man into his arms and carrying him to the sitting room.

He set Harry on the couch and then grabbed another blanket and threw it over his front. It wasn't so much that Severus cared that Harry was naked, but he knew that Harry would be mortified to find himself so exposed, especially after all that had happened to him.

Severus put an arm around Harry and pulled him in close. "Tell me," he murmured.

Harry sobbed even harder at Severus's words and Severus felt his heart clench for the young man.

"You are safe here. No one can hurt you here. I won't let them." Severus squeezed Harry's shoulders. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I can't," Harry cried. "I... I just can't."

Severus closed his eyes. He hated to push. But there was only one way through this mess and he was the only person Harry had to see him through it. "You can. You can and you must. It's the only way." Severus held him tighter and rested his cheek against the top of Harry's head. "No matter what they did to you, Harry, it wasn't your fault."

Harry keened louder and buried his head against Snape's chest. He began to rock back and forth, unconsciously seeking comfort.

Severus rubbed the boy's back and whispered reassurances to him.

Harry's breathing was ragged when he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "He touched me… there..." Harry said. "And he… he kept at it until… until... _fuck,_ " Harry cursed, shaking his head back and forth, as if to deny what had happened to him.

Snape had a good idea where this was going and the thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

"Keep going, Harry. I'm right here. You're safe. You can do this."

Harry clawed at Snape's chest and Snape took Harry's hand in his, giving Harry something to hold on to.

"He kept pulling on my… on me… until… until I got _hard_ ," Harry forced out, his voice going shrill. "I didn't want it, I didn't. I swear. I didn't. But he made me… made me get hard… and then… and then he…" Harry squeezed Snape's hand and rocked harder. "He didn't stop," Harry sobbed. "The other guy was watching and laughing. He wouldn't stop until I… until he made me…" Harry whined in despair.

Severus squeezed his eyes shut and held Harry tighter.

Harry gasped and let out a sob. "Until I _came_. And then he… he took his fag and burned me… _there…_ over and over... "

Emotion clogging his throat, Severus cradled the young man to him. "I am so sorry, Harry. I am so sorry they did that to you." With Harry distraught as he was, Severus wasn't sure the boy even heard him.

Then Harry was squirming, trying to get away from him. Severus opened his arms, unsure of what was happening.

Harry fell to the floor, on his hands and knees, keening and rocking back and forth, his skin glistening with sweat.

"Harry?"

And then Harry was vomiting, Christmas dinner coming up in all of its undigested glory.

Severus knelt on the floor beside Harry, stroking the boy's back as Harry continued to vomit and Severus continued to banish mess. When Harry was down to dry heaves, Severus summoned a wet flannel.

"I'm sorry," Harry panted. "I didn't mean to…"

"Hush," Severus soothed him, handing Harry the wet cloth. "Vomiting is one of the ways your body purges emotion. It may not be pleasant, but it can be quite cleansing. It's a way for your mind to expel some of the negative emotions around what happened to you."

Severus draped the blanket that had fallen away up over Harry's shoulders. Then he helped Harry back onto the couch.

"All right?" Severus asked.

Harry nodded, wiping his eyes.

"Rest there a moment and I'll get your clothes for you." Severus retrieved Harry's clothes from the bathroom and brought them to the young man. "You can get dressed here. I will go and make us some tea."

Severus returned a few minutes later, sans his ridiculous Christmas hat. He handed a cup of tea to Harry, the one he'd added a calming and stomach soothing draught to. Then he took a seat next to the boy, close enough to be within reach if Harry needed him but not so close as to crowd him.

Severus considered his words before he spoke. "Harry, I am proud of you for telling me what happened."

Harry bit his lower lip and gazed into his teacup, his breathing still a bit labored.

"I also admire your strength for having the courage to speak of it."

Harry curled his lips in and bit them in a way that made Snape think he was trying not to cry.

"I know this isn't an easy subject to talk about. For anyone. But there are some things that it's important you understand about what happened to you." Snape took a deep breath. "First, what they did to you was about power and control. They wanted to feel helpless and they wanted to humiliate you."

Harry buried his head in his hands and Snape reached over and squeezed Harry's shoulder.

"Second, your body reacted just as it was made to do. You did nothing wrong."

At this, Harry let out a sound of disgust.

"If I punched you in the arm right now, really hard, what would happen?"

"It would hurt," Harry muttered through his fingers.

"What else?"

Harry took a deep breath and sat up. "I reckon I'd probably get a bruise."

"Precisely," Severus said. "Could you stop yourself from getting a bruise?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Right. And what would happen if I cut you with a sharp knife?"

"I'd bleed," Harry admitted, wiping at his eyes.

"And could you prevent your body from having that reaction?"

Harry shook his head.

"Exactly. And when that vile man touched you," here Harry shuddered at Severus's words, "your body reacted exactly how it was meant to react."

Severus reached out and took Harry's hand lightly in his, leaving space for Harry to pull away. Instead, Harry grabbed on tightly.

"Just as you can't stop a bruise from forming and you can't _will_ your body not to bleed after a wound, you can't prevent yourself from getting an erection or ejaculating when physically stimulated."

Tears began to trickle down Harry's cheeks.

"That has nothing to do with you as a person, Harry. You did nothing wrong. Nor did your body. Your body did what it was made to do. And that is not your fault nor your body's fault. It is merely a consequence of biology." Snape paused a moment. "Does that make sense to you?"

Harry nodded.

"But you still feel like, somehow, you did something wrong, that you were somehow at fault or responsible, don't you?"

Harry nodded again.

Severus sighed with regret. The overwhelming shame and guilt, the feeling of betrayal by one's own body, were the hardest things to get past. He should know. He squeezed Harry's hand in understanding. "It's especially difficult when we lose control of our body's reactions. But I assure you, Harry, you are in no way at fault. Nor does your body's purely biological reaction imply that you wanted it or that you enjoyed it."

Severus gave Harry a few moments to consider his words. "Did you know that the same system that controls your breathing and heart rate controls your sexual arousal?"

Harry shook his head and wiped at his tears.

"When you experience a trauma, you can no more control your breathing and heart rate than you can your body's arousal. It is entirely beyond your control. Just like you can't stop your body from bruising or bleeding or sweating, you can't stop it from becoming aroused when someone touches you against your will. Does that make sense?"

Harry seemed to shrink in on himself, but he nodded.

Snape let out a long breath. "It will likely take a while for you to be able to integrate what I have said. You may need to hear me say this all again. You may need to hear it a hundred times before you believe it." Snape gently reached over and lifted Harry's chin so Harry met his eyes. "I will not be opposed to repeating it as often as you need to hear it, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled.

There was more Severus needed to say, but he didn't want to overwhelm Harry. If Harry could just come to terms with this part, he'd be miles ahead in his healing.

"What can I do to help, Harry?"

"I want the scars gone, but I…" Harry shook his head. "I just want them gone."

Severus waited for Harry to continue.

"Can you just Stupefy me or give me a potion to knock me out and heal them?" Harry asked, sliding his eyes to Severus under cover of his fringe.

Severus caught his breath. Harry wanted him to touch him _there?_ He'd have to make Harry erect to treat the burns. That thought made him feel sick to his stomach, as if he'd be assaulting Harry too, even though Harry had asked. Not for the first time, he wished Poppy was here. She wouldn't feel squeamish at such a request, and he shouldn't either.

At Snape's hesitation, Harry said, "Never mind. I shouldn't have asked." He pulled his hand away from Snape's.

"I apologize," Snape said. "Your request merely caught me by surprise. I… I can do that if you wish it."

"I do," Harry said, shuddering. "I just want them gone."

Severus swallowed. Merlin, help him. He was pleased that he'd gained Harry's trust, and he'd had to examine Harry intimately once before, when they'd first arrived, but what Harry was asking felt too much like repeating what had been done to Harry by the men who'd tortured him in the first place. He debated offering to be present when Harry healed himself, but clearly the boy didn't feel up to it and, if Severus was being honest, he was just looking for a way out.

Holding in a sigh, he said, "I can give you a sedative potion tonight before bed and heal you after you fall asleep."

Harry peered at him with such gratitude that Severus knew he'd do anything for the boy. "Thanks, sir. I appreciate it."

Snape hid his grimace and nodded.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: If you skipped the end of the last chapter, Snape had made a potion for Harry to heal Harry's cigarette burn scars from his time in captivity. Harry had a flashback of being tortured and raped by his guards and Snape helped him through it.

 **CHAPTER 29**

"Will you read to me?" Harry asked. He was exhausted and spent and needed something to distract him from the emotional drain of telling Snape what had been done to him.

"Anything in particular you'd like to hear?"

"Do you know any Wizarding Christmas stories? It _is_ Christmas day, after all."

Snape rubbed his chin in thought. "My mother told me a couple when I was young," he admitted.

Harry yawned and knuckled his swollen eyes.

"Why don't you stretch out and rest and I'll see how well I can recall them."

Snape shifted to a nearly chair and Harry gratefully stretched out on the sofa. He grabbed a throw pillow and stuffed it under his head as he listened to the calming sound of Snape's deep voice. There were goblins stealing children, and Nifflers stealing presents, and an avenging angel in the form of a reindeer tasked with saving the holiday. Harry's last thought before he drifted off to sleep was about the irony of Snape pulling a felt reindeer hat from his Christmas cracker earlier that day.

When Harry awoke sometime later, it was to find himself warm and comfortable under a blanket. A fire roared in the grate and the Queen's Royal Christmas Message sounded over the radio. He glanced over to see Snape reclined in the chair, legs outstretched and ankles crossed, an open book resting against his chest. The man's mouth was slightly open, his eyes closed in repose.

Harry studied the older wizard. He looked more relaxed in sleep than he ever did awake. Harry wondered, not for the first time, what Snape had been through. Snape, who'd been a Death Eater once, and who'd played the spy for all those years before he'd had to rescue Harry from their very clutches. What had he done in his time as a Death Eater? And what had been done to him? It hadn't escaped Harry's notice that Snape seemed to speak from experience. He couldn't imagine Hermione or Ron having the insights into his suffering that Snape seemed to have. The thought made him both immensely grateful and immeasurably sad.

Shaking off his maudlin thoughts, he rose from the sofa and made his way to the kitchen to see about dinner. Snape had placed a preservation charm on the food so everything was still warm and fresh. He made up a plate for Snape and reinstated the preservation charm before cleaning up the kitchen and putting the rest of the food away for later. Snape entered the room just as Harry was finishing up the dishes.

"I made you a plate if you're hungry," Harry said.

"Thank you," Snape replied, taking a seat at the table.

Harry joined him and tucked into one of the tureens of soup.

"How would you like to spend your Christmas evening?" Snape asked.

Harry blew on a spoonful of thick soup to cool it while he considered Snape's question. "We could play cards again," he said. "But this time, you need to be the one singing all the Christmas carols and making a fool of yourself."

Snape snickered. "I believe you are much more entertaining to watch."

By the time they'd retired to the sitting room to play cards, night had fallen in earnest. As Snape was transfiguring the coffee table into a card table, Harry called out to him. "Come look at this."

Snape stepped up beside Harry, his gaze following the teenager's to stare at the Christmas tree. "It seems that the fairies are developing a tolerance for the potion you made them."

A pair of young fairies on a low branch were pulling the cloves from an orange and throwing them gleefully at one another. A bit higher up, two blinking blue teenage males were playing football with a star-shaped pod that was slowly turning to dust. A teenage female swung on a dried starfruit, watching the boys with rapt attention.

Lower down, young ones were sticking their heads through the star-shaped holes of the apple slice ornaments, while a group of older fairies had wrapped themselves in garland and were using the ugly candy canes like giant swords.

The adults weren't behaving any better. Three magenta adults had taken over the nest inside the tree that had attracted Harry to that particular fir in the first place. Having kicked out the miniature Hedwig replica that Harry had placed there, they were lounging and gossiping as if relaxing in a hot tub.

Meanwhile, a group of adult males had got drunk on the fermenting juices of the cooked fruit ornaments and were playing a rousing game of cards using a lemon slice as a table.

Snape reached into the depths of the tree and pulled out an amorous pink and light-blue teenage couple, who giggled madly at being caught. Separating the two, Snape said, "I believe we will need to return them to their grotto soon."

Harry pointed to a trio of young ones playing king of the mountain on the star topping the tree. "Yeah, but they look like they're having so much fun."

"They do indeed," Snape replied, chortling along with Harry at their antics.

"I can't wait to tell Ron and Hermione," Harry said. "I can tell them, right, sir?"

Snape nodded. "You may."

"Can I tell them about the grotto too?"

"Yes, but be vague on the details regarding how or where you found it."

"Hermione will be so jealous," Harry said.

* * *

Harry was yawning widely by the time they'd finished off the remainder of the Advocaat and called it a night. He had done better at Durak this evening, which meant that Snape had had to sing as many off-key Christmas carols as he had.

"Do you still wish for me to heal the remainder of your scars this evening?" Severus asked.

Harry dropped his gaze. "If… if you wouldn't mind, sir."

"Very well," Severus replied. "Why don't you clean up in here and get ready for bed while I titrate the potion."

Harry gathered up the cards and glasses and set them on the mantel before transfiguring the card table back to a coffee table and the hardback chairs back to their original shapes.

"Oh, and Harry?"

The boy glanced up.

"It would be best if you wore a night shirt with nothing underneath. You can transfigure one of your pajama tops or borrow a night shirt of mine."

Severus made his way to the makeshift potions lab and diluted the burn scar potion into various strengths. He still felt uncomfortable with the task at hand. By the time he'd finished, an idea had struck him. He grabbed various other potions, including one he brewed for his personal stores only. He rather thought it would be the best way to proceed if Harry was amenable to the plan. He'd have to wait and see.

Harry was in his camp bed reading when Severus entered the shared master bedroom.

Severus pulled up a chair and arranged the various potions on Harry's bedside table. Once they were neatly ordered to his satisfaction, he turned his attention to the young wizard. Harry had chosen one of Snape's nightshirts, a pale green one that barely reached the top of Snape's knees, but hung well past Harry's. Harry had also rolled up the long sleeves so he could use his hands.

"I have a different idea on how we might proceed," Severus began, gaining Harry's complete attention. "I brew a potion that is, strictly speaking, illegal. However, I keep some on hand for times that I have need of it. For myself only, mind," Severus clarified.

Harry looked intrigued.

"It's a dissociative potion. The drinker retains their mental facilities and is perfectly capable of following commands. However, it distances the drinker from their reality, making them less susceptible to strong emotions."

By this point, Harry was looking bemused. "What do you use it for?"

Severus hesitated, debating whether he should tell the boy the truth or not. After brief consideration, he figured he owed the boy as much. "I find that I sometimes need to distract myself from… certain events in my life."

"Me?" Harry asked, looking suddenly worried.

"No, Harry, not you." Snape sighed. "I used to take it sometimes after I was summoned."

Harry's face lit with recognition. "Oh. I'm sorry. I can't even imagine what those meeting must have been like. Wait, actually I can," Harry said, dropping his gaze and shrinking reflexively in on himself.

"Harry," Severus said, not wanting to lose him, "I'm offering this potion to you. Tonight."

"Why?"

"I would rather have you assist me this evening, but I do not wish to traumatize you further," Severus said.

Harry frowned. Tentatively, his voice laced with suspicion, he asked, "What do you need my help with?"

Snape tapped his fingers on the table, trying to think of how best to make Harry understand. "In order for the potion to work properly, you will need to be in the same _physical state_ as you were when you received the scars." Severus held his breath and waited for Harry to comprehend his meaning. When the boy finally caught on, Severus spoke again. "I'd rather you put yourself in that state. Then I will be able to apply the potion as needed."

* * *

Harry grinned. "I can't believe I'm wanking in front of my professor. Wanking! In front of my professor!" Harry giggled.

"Harry," Snape said, grabbing the boy's overeager hand. "You can stop now."

Harry rolled onto his side, his eyes sparkling. "You have a big nose, Professor. Did you know that?"

"I am aware," Snape said, pulling on a pair of medical gloves. "Now roll onto your back so I can apply the potion."

"How come your hair isn't so greasy anymore?" Harry asked as he rolled over. "It used to look like you never washed it, but it doesn't anymore." Harry tilted his head. "How come you don't tie it back? When my hair gets too long it drives me crazy. Doesn't it drive you crazy, Snape? Sssssss-nape. Ooh! I like how that sounds." Harry rolled the syllables around on his tongue. "Sssss-nape. Ssssnapity-Snape-Snape."

Severus bit back a groan. "You know, Harry, you _will_ remember this when the potion wears off." Severus used the weakest strength titration first, placing a glop of the potion on a burn along the side of Harry's erect shaft, which was beginning to flag at the lack of attention.

"Ooh!" Harry exclaimed. "That tickles."

Severus grabbed his wrist. "No touching. Can you feel it tingling?"

"Nope! Don't feel a thing. Not a thing! Not a bloody little thing. Nothing nothing nothing."

"I am never giving you this potion again," Snape grumbled as he wiped off the potion. "All right, Harry. I am going to try the next strength up. Meanwhile, you seem to be deflating. Could you remedy that for me?"

Harry grasped his semi-hard penis in his hand. "Wankity, wank, wank. Wankity, wank, wank. Over the hills we go…"

Severus cleared his throat. "I think that's sufficient for now." He pulled Harry's hand back.

Harry pouted. "You're no fun."

Severus made a non-committal noise in his throat and placed the potion on the burn again. This time it sizzled, but only a little.

"That sounds like a snake," Harry declared. "Sssssss… ssssssss…"

"I'm sure it does," Snape murmured, reaching for the 30% strength titration next. "Let's see if this one does the job."

Harry raised up a bit and looked down. "Hey, my dick has spots. Spotted dick. Get it? Get it, Snape? _Spotted dick!"_ Harry collapsed in a fit of giggles.

Severus groaned. This time when he applied the potion, it sizzled as it should have. After a second, there was a satisfying _pop_.

"Pop goes the weasel!" Harry said. "Weasel!" Harry laughed. "Get it? My dick's a weasel! And it's popping! Popping hard and popping out and…" Harry threw himself back on the pillows, laughing.

Severus shook his head. "Be still. I've found the right strength, now I just need to get you sorted." Severus applied the potion to the various burn marks on Harry's penis, scrotum, and inner thighs. Once the potion had done its work, he wiped off the salve. Much to his relief, no trace of the burn marks remained.

Harry was still guffawing at his own jokes as Snape instructed him to turn over onto his stomach. There weren't as many burn marks here, just a few on the back of his thighs and buttocks. Those were quick and easy. There were more burns, though, Severus knew. Poppy had told him so, and he'd seen them as well when he'd examined a sedated Harry after they'd arrived at the safe house.

Harry had rolled onto his stomach as directed, but he had gone quiet.

"How are you doing?" Severus asked.

"I don't like lying like this," Harry said, his voice quavering.

Severus stilled. The dissociative potion should still be working. Severus put a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry flinched. "We don't have to do this, Harry. We can stop…"

"Can I have the sedative potion now?" Harry asked.

"Of course. Why don't you sit up?"

Harry practically leapt off the bed, his body trembling.

"Harry?"

"Which one is it?" Harry asked, fumbling frantically through the vials on the table.

"Harry, breathe. You are safe here. No one will hurt you here, I promise."

Harry stepped back, his whole body shaking now. "I know. I know."

Severus handed him the sedative potion and Harry downed it in one long gulp. Then he hopped back into bed and slid under the covers, burrowing under them.

"Please, just finish, all right? I know I have more burns. I know where they are." Harry swallowed. "Please, make them go away?"

Severus let out a long breath, feeling uncertain. But the look of desperation and determination in Harry's eyes decided him. "All right."

Harry pulled the blankets up to his chin. A moment later, he reached out and grabbed Snape's gloved hand.

Severus gave Harry a reassuring squeeze and waited until the boy's hand went limp in his. Then he rolled Harry over, parted his arse cheeks, and applied the potion to the burn scars there as quickly as he could.

It didn't take a genius to figure out how Harry had got them but, seeing the reminder so clearly, along with how Harry had reacted, made Snape alternatively want to throw up and pound the shit out of the men who'd done this to him.

Finished at last, Severus cleaned Harry up and then scanned his body carefully—front, sides, and back—to make sure they hadn't missed any burn marks. He had to remove the nightshirt to do so, and was relieved he did when he found one more circular scar on Harry's side, below his armpit, which he proceeded to dispatch in moments.

Severus had brought a few other scar potions with him to try on Harry's other scars, as well. He was particularly keen on removing the slash mark on Harry's face. He worked his way up from the weakest scar ointment he had to the strongest. It took him nearly twenty minutes and three different scar removers, but he'd managed to make the facial scar all but invisible. One would have to look very hard for it, as it was merely a faint line now.

The knife slashes on his torso and thighs were easier to heal, but the ones on his back were particularly intractable. He did manage to make them lighter, though, and Harry would be able to explain them away easily enough now.

That left the " _I must not tell lies"_ scar on Harry's left hand, which stubbornly refused to budge no matter what he tried. Severus wasn't surprised. Blood quills were dark magic and unlikely to respond to standard scar creams. He'd have to think more about how to brew a potion that could remove it. In the meantime, he was quite pleased with what he had accomplished. He stripped the gloves from his hands and banished them.

Severus spelled a clean pair of Harry's pajamas onto the boy and covered him up. He made sure the glowing orange ball of light hung reassuringly in Harry's corner for him should he wake, then he made his way to the loo.

As Severus brushed his teeth, he wondered about his next steps with Harry. Before he'd had Harry roll onto his stomach-a position that clearly made Harry feel vulnerable and unsafe-Harry had seemed to be doing relatively well with the proceedings. If the dissociative potion was any indication-and Severus had no idea if it was-Harry might just be amenable to where Severus was thinking of taking him next in the recovery program he'd devised for the boy.

He had no idea if what he was doing was correct, sanctioned, or even advisable. All he knew was that he didn't want Harry to end up like he had. That thought chased him into his dreams, relentlessly pursuing him and reminding him just what was at stake. By the time morning came, he felt as if he'd barely slept at all.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

"Stiff?" Snape asked with a snicker.

Harry grimaced. "I can't believe I'm sore after ice skating. I didn't even know those muscles in my legs and arse existed."

Snape laughed as he scooped up a set of young fairies playing tag. It was early morning and still dark out, which made them easier to locate in the tree. "Don't miss that pink one," he said, pointing to a teenager who was trying to hide behind a pinecone.

"Got it." Harry plucked her up, gave her a good spray in the face to sedate her, then laid her gently in his basket. "Think they'll be happy to go home?"

Snape shrugged. "How are your friends doing?"

Harry smiled. "They are good. Thanks again for those journals, they're brilliant, sir."

"I am glad to hear it."

Harry sprayed a particularly hyper yellow adolescent fairy. "Ron has been keeping me updated on his family and Quidditch. Hermione is as jealous as I knew she would be about the fairies and finding the grotto. She's full of questions that I can't answer."

Snape nodded. "Have you discussed your imprisonment with them?"

Harry instantly felt his walls go up. "No."

Although Snape acted as if he hadn't notice the change in Harry's demeanor, Harry could tell from the set of his jaw that he had.

"Any reason?" Snape asked.

A variety of reasons ran through his mind, but none that Snape would believe or accept. _It was too hard. They wouldn't understand. They'd pity him. They'd see him as broken. It would hurt them. They wouldn't know what to say after they knew and it would be awkward between them. He didn't want their opinion of him to change._ Finally, Harry let out a sigh. "I don't know how."

Snape raised a brow. "You don't know how," he repeated, deadpan, placing a few more sprays over his basket of sedated fairies. He added a temperature charm and closed his basket.

"What am I supposed to write?" Harry said as he laid the last three fairies from the tree in his basket. "Dear Ron and Hermione. Hanging out with the Death Eaters was a real trip. I was starved, burned, beaten, buggered…" Harry bit his lip and turned away, his throat suddenly feeling too tight.

"Harry," Snape said in a soft voice. "Instead of focusing on what happened to you, I suggest you focus on how you _felt_."

"Hopeless, helpless, terrified," Harry said, spraying all the fairies once more before casting the temperature charm on his basket and closing the lid. "Like there was no way I was going to make it out of there alive." Harry shivered, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

"Tell them that. They don't need to know the details of what happened if you don't want to share them." Snape shifted the basket of fairies to his other hand and led Harry to the back door. "Although I dare say they'd be more than willing to listen."

They were both quiet as they dressed in warm jackets and cloaks, scarves, hats, and mittens. Finally, Snape caught Harry's gaze. "Let them help you, Harry."

Harry knew Snape was right. If the situation was reversed, he'd be desperate to be there for his friends, even more so if they were locked away somewhere and he couldn't see them to ascertain for himself that they were all right. "I'll try."

Snape squeezed Harry's shoulder. "That's all I ask." He opened the door and gestured Harry through it. "Now, see if you can find the fairy grotto by yourself this time."

It was still mostly dark when they left the safe house, although the horizon was beginning to lighten the tiniest bit. They walked twenty minutes in a comfortable silence. After Harry had managed to trip over his own feet twice, with Snape catching him both times, a grumbling Snape kept a firm hand on Harry's upper arm to prevent any future missteps.

Harry stopped at where he remembered the grotto entrance to be. He wandered around for nearly fifteen minutes in broad circles and rough figure eights, searching in vain for the shimmering particles of air that Snape had pointed out to him last time. Feeling defeated, he muttered, "You made it look so easy."

"You aren't focusing," Snape said.

"What do you think I've been doing?" Harry snapped, jamming his cold mitten-covered hands into his pockets.

"Fussing," Snape said.

"Fussing!" Harry felt outraged. "Well then, why don't you…"

A heavy hand clamped down on Harry's shoulder, cutting off his words. "Calm yourself, Harry. Close your eyes and take a deep breath."

Begrudgingly, Harry did as Snape requested. It took him several deep breaths to calm himself. He didn't understand it, but he'd found himself short of temper quite often lately, set off by the stupidest things. When he got like this, Snape would always cock his head and look at him strangely, as if he were an odd potion specimen. Somehow, that infuriated Harry even more. Harry twitched at the thought.

Snape's other hand came down on his other shoulder. Harry had his eyes closed so he could only imagine Snape standing in front of him, towering over him. Out of curiosity, he asked, "Why do you have your hands on my shoulders? Is that supposed to help or something?"

Without responding, Snape lifted his hands.

In their absence, Harry felt untethered and anxious. His calm mind scattered into a myriad of disjointed thoughts. His feet were cold. He was tired. It was too early in the morning. He wanted breakfast. He was angry, about what he didn't even know. Then Snape's hands fell back to his shoulders, their firm pressure driving him downward. Instantly, his body and mind calmed.

Harry gazed up at Snape in awe. "You're grounding me."

Snape nodded.

"Thanks," Harry said. "I didn't even realize how much I needed it." Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. He kept breathing deeply until his heart rate returned to normal and the anxiety had left him.

"Now," Snape's deep voice said. "Instead of reaching out with your senses, reach out with your magic." As Harry opened his eyes, Snape said, "Keep your eyes closed. Use your magic only."

Harry bit back his irritation. How was he supposed to do that? Then Snape's fingers squeezed his shoulders and, in so doing, he must have sent a pulse of his own magic into Harry because Harry was suddenly very aware of the ebb and flow of his own magic.

"Wicked," he murmured. Tentatively, he pushed at the tendrils of his magic, trying to see if he could reach beyond himself to find the grotto. He was partially successful. He couldn't extend his magic very far, but he could push out enough that he felt his magic hit _something_. What was most interesting was that if he pushed backwards or to the sides, he felt nothing, just his magic weakening and petering out. But if he pushed forward, his magic sort of skittered sideways.

"Is that it?" Harry asked. "Right in front of me?"

"Keep your magic extended, Harry, and open your eyes into slits."

Harry did so. The first strands of dawn were breaking across the horizon, heralding a new day. As he strove to keep his eyes mostly closed, he saw the telltale shimmer of the portal between worlds, the light of the new dawn just catching on its fragile threads. Harry glanced up to meet Snape's knowing gaze. "Wicked."

Snape rolled his eyes, but he was grinning.

"How can you find it so easily?" Harry asked.

"Practice. Also, I use both my magic and my senses together to reach out and search. I discard other anomalies until I find what I'm looking for."

"Can you show me how to do that?" Harry asked.

"I just did."

Stepping into the grotto was as exciting and amazing as it had been the first time. The humid warmth, the pastel colors, the twisted tree branches, the cup-shaped blossoms. Fairies flitted everywhere, working, playing, relaxing. Severus and Harry set down their baskets and quietly laid out their charges.

The other fairies rushed forward, chattering animatedly. Harry wondered if they were concerned for their missing family members, but it turned out that they'd been excited to welcome them back and hear the stories of their adventure. Harry would have been happy to watch this for some time; but, much too soon, Snape touched his arm and motioned with his head that it was time to leave.

Snape made their farewells to the leader of the clan, being sure to thank the head fairy profusely for allowing his tribe members to accompany the humans for a time. Snape had brought gifts of thanks as well, mostly showy things such as wax and glass beads, gold and silver string, colorful ribbons, and a few tiny vials of potions. The tribe seemed most pleased with these offerings and bade the good wizards to return. Harry was sad to leave the serenity of the place.

"Would you like to try skating again today?" Severus asked as they walked back toward the house.

Harry flexed his sore muscles. "How about tomorrow," he suggested, chagrined. "Do you know if there are any hills around here? I'd love to go sledding!"

"Would you?"

"I've only done it a couple of times. The Dursleys took Dudley, but never me. When I spent the holidays with the Weasleys, though, there was a nearby hill that we went sledding on and it was a lot of fun."

"I dare say that going down is the only _fun_ part," Snape commented.

"True," Harry said. "But we used magic to float ourselves back up the hill, so that wasn't bad either."

Snape glanced over. "Weren't you underage?"

"Yes, but we always made sure to bring along one of the older Weasley brothers so we could use magic without getting in trouble."

"Worked that out, did you?" Snape asked, his lips quirked.

"Yeah, and it was bloody annoying when I did! It is incredibly unfair that only Muggleborns can't do magic outside of school. Everyone else with a witch or wizard in the family can get away with it without a problem."

Snape just shook his head, his eyes lit with amusement.

Harry bit back his irritation. Then a disturbing thought occurred to him. "Sir?"

"Hmm?"

"I seem to be angry a lot lately. Every little thing ticks me off." Harry bit his lip, afraid to say what was on his mind. "Do you think… do you think it's Volde…" At Snape's sharp look, Harry amended his words. "You Know Who? Do you think he's trying to break into my mind and he's angry and I'm picking up on that?"

They'd arrived back at the house and Snape ushered Harry in out of the cold. "When you get angry, do you have a reason for it, however trivial? Or does anger just suddenly come over you for no reason at all?"

Harry thought about it. "No, there's always a reason. Usually a stupid one. I mean, something really not worth getting upset over. It's as if I have a really short fuse all of a sudden. Or like I'm really bad-tempered and irritable."

Snape cocked his head and looked at Harry in that potion specimen way and Harry snapped.

"Stop that! I hate when you look at me that way. It's like I'm a bug you're trying to dissect." Harry's pulse had increased as his anger had flared.

Snape straightened. "It's not the Dark Lord, Harry."

"Then what is it?" Harry asked, frustration swamping him.

Snape summoned a Calming Draught and handed it to Harry, who drank it down in one long gulp.

"Let's eat the breakfast that Dobby has left us and I will tell you what I think."

Harry slumped into his chair, calmer now, but feeling as if something ominous was about to befall him.

Snape served himself a helping of cheesy egg omelet and pulled some ham onto his plate as well. "You know that there are different types of abuse." Severus used a knife and fork to cut his omelet into bite-size pieces. "There's neglect, verbal abuse, physical abuse, psychological abuse, and sexual abuse."

Harry wasn't sure where this going, but he really didn't want to talk about this right now, first thing in the morning. A piece of egg halfway to his mouth, he said, "Maybe we should talk about this later. It's awfully early in the morning."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You asked me a question. If you wish to hear the answer..."

"I do," Harry said, raising his hands in surrender. "Just… not right now. I have a feeling it's going to ruin my whole day otherwise." Harry dropped his gaze, feeling weak for his cowardice but not wanting to be a wreck all day. He'd had enough days like that. "Maybe we could brew some potions today or something, and talk about this later tonight?"

Harry heard the clink of metal against porcelain and looked up, only to meet Snape's intense gaze. "You must really wish to avoid the topic if you are offering to brew potions."

Harry shrugged.

"Very well, then. I will endeavor to teach you something new in potions today and we can save our serious conversations for this evening."

"Thanks, sir," Harry said. He ate his breakfast heartily, grateful for the reprieve.


	31. Chapter 31

**CHAPTER 31**

Much to Harry's chagrin, evening came a lot quicker than he'd anticipated. They had spent the day brewing potions and Harry had actually enjoyed it. Snape had given him a potions kit with six sets of basic ingredients that could be mixed in any combination without any ill effects. He'd told Harry that if magical primary schools were ever opened for children, this would be around a year five lesson.

Harry wasn't sure if that was intended to be a slight to Harry's intelligence, but he didn't care. He found the lesson fascinating. If he'd been taught potions this way from the start, he'd probably have found it much more interesting.

The first set included six potion bases that had distinct characteristics. The second set had six color-changing ingredients, mostly flower petals, leaves, and stems. The third set contained six viscosity modifiers that could make a potion as thin as water, as thick as sludge, or anything in-between. The fourth set contained a single ingredient that could be prepared in six different ways: powdered, crumbled, crushed, diced, sliced, or strained. The fifth set was six different temperature charms. Last, but not least, the sixth set was a whiz-bang kit with ingredients that caused showy things to happen, such as having the potion send up sparks like fireworks, or producing color-changing smoke rings, or turning invisible, or dancing in the cauldron, or turning into a rubbery spherical mass and bouncing away, or belching flames.

Harry had spent hours lost in the fascination of making numerous combinations and seeing what happened. In so doing, he'd learned a fair bit about the basics of potions and lamented that, if he'd been taught this way early on, he probably would have a better grasp of the subject and be a much better student.

"Would you do it, sir?" Harry asked.

"Do what?"

"If someone asked you, would you be willing to set up Potions classes for kids before they come to Hogwarts? The Ministry's been talking forever about having a primary school for young witches and wizards to better prepare them for Hogwarts."

"Perhaps," Snape allowed.

"I thought you hated kids."

Snape scowled. "I do NOT hate children. Teenagers, on the other hand…"

Harry laughed. "So younger kids are better?"

Snape snorted. "They couldn't be worse. Young kids are fascinated by learning. In fact, they look a lot like you. Happy to combine everything in sight and excited to see what happens."

Harry wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

"Because of their desire to experiment and learn, they are much easier to teach." Snape rearranged a set of books on a shelf he'd been working near. "Teenagers, on the other hand, are more interested in dating, Quidditch, and breaking curfew."

"So why don't you do something like this with first years? They aren't teenagers yet and they are presumably eager to learn."

Snape shook his head. "If only it were that simple. There is a prescribed curriculum for each year that I must teach."

"Maybe pre-Hogwarts summer school, then?" Harry suggested.

Snape glanced up, looking at him strangely. "That is an interesting idea. Perhaps when I retire from teaching dunderheads, I will try my hand with children of a more impressionable age."

Snape flicked his wand to clean up the mess Harry had made. "Now that you've had so much fun experimenting with my test kit, I have an exam for you to take to see how much you've learned."

Harry's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"You yourself said it would make a good lesson. I just so happen to have been developing an alternate curriculum around this style of teaching. You have the good fortune of being my first student. How well you do on this test will tell me how well this method of teaching gets across the points I wish to instill."

"All right," Harry said, not sure what all was at stake. It didn't really matter, though. He would do his best regardless.

The test was several pages long and straightforward enough. He was asked to describe each ingredient/technique in each of the six kits and what its role was in a potion. Next, he was given a series of hypothetical combinations of ingredients/techniques, one from each of the six kits, and asked to predict the outcome. Then he was given a desired potion and asked how he would create it using one item from each of the six sets.

He was also asked to report any unexpected results when combining ingredients. Here, Harry wrote: "Violet petals counteract the effectiveness of the viscosity modifiers, making it difficult to thicken a potion that contains violet." After that, he was asked to draw as many general conclusions as he could regarding the items in the kit. To this, Harry wrote: "Cutting valerian roots in any way—so chopping, dicing, slicing, cubing, etc.—and adding them to a potion causes a volatile reaction. Valerian roots should only be pressed or strained when being used with the potions, or at least the potions in this kit."

Last he was asked if anything critical to potion making had been left out, whether ingredient, technique, or other. To this, Harry listed everything he could think of, including the stirring direction and speed, cauldron material, and how long or short a time ingredients were left to brew.

"One hour and twenty minutes," Snape pronounced when Harry handed him the finished exam.

"Is that good or bad?" Harry asked.

"Neither, it is merely data." Snape wrote the length of time atop Harry's test. "Why don't you wash up and start dinner. I'll clean up the lab and restock the kits. Then we can go over your examination results."

Harry wondered if his performance here in the safe house would be reflected in his Hogwarts grades. Snape did try and teach him little things each day, even if it wasn't specifically in a class-structured way.

Harry threw together a simple dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, and asparagus spears, with melon balls for dessert. He ate as Snape pored over Harry's answers. Snape made many notations on the parchment and Harry cringed at the thought of all he must have got wrong. Still, Snape's expression wasn't one of disgust as Harry would have expected. Instead, it seemed to alternate between being intrigued and stumped. Harry had finished his dinner by the time Snape set the exam aside and began eating.

"How terrible was it?" Harry asked, gesturing toward the now marked-up paper.

"See for yourself." Snape slid the sheaf of parchment over to him.

Expecting the worst, Harry was quite surprised to see that many of the notes Snape had made on Harry's paper were not snide corrections, but ponderous remarks on his thought process, hints on taking a thought to the next level, challenges to investigate something further, notes pointing out an error in logic and encouraging reconsideration, and even a few complimentary comments on his findings and thought process.

Harry glanced up to see Snape watching him. "If you taught this way in class, I'd learn so much more."

Snape looked pleased but said, "I have far too many students to coach each individually to help them reach their full potential." Snape wiped his mouth with a napkin. "You have got me thinking about an optional summer program, though. I could take the time with individual students then. It would be interesting to see how much better they performed in a standard Potions class with a foundation such as this."

"I bet they'd perform a ton better," Harry said enthusiastically. "Like I said, I learned more today than I ever learned in…" he trailed off, seeing no way to complete that sentence without insulting his professor. He cleared his throat. "I learned a lot today. Working with the kits. Thanks."

Snape nodded. "Incidentally, your responses to what was not included—stirring, timing, cauldron material—that is all covered in the next lesson. There are six such lessons of variables affecting potions brewing. Lesson seven deals with combining everything learned from the first six lessons, and lesson eight is an independent project where you propose something you'd like to brew, reason out how you will do it, present your hypothesis to me, brew it, and see if your hypothesis proves correct."

"That sounds brilliant," Harry said. "I wouldn't mind doing those lessons, if you want me to. I'd learn a bunch about potion basics that I haven't managed to pick up so far, and you could see how well your lessons work."

"That is reasonable," Snape agreed. "And I would appreciate the feedback." Snape, who'd finished eating by now as well, gathered up their plates and took them to the sink. Then he took down two goblets and poured them each a glass of wine before resuming his seat.

"Are you ready to return to the topic of this morning?"

Harry winced. "Er, not really. But as neither of us have forgotten, it's likely another _lesson_ I need." Harry took a large swallow of wine. "Best get it over with."

Severus clasped his hands on the table and gazed at Harry. "You asked why you seem to be getting angry lately, more frequently and over minor things. You expressed that this feels out of the norm for you. Is that correct?"

Harry ran his fingers along the smooth, cool outside of his wine glass. He nodded.

"I began to tell you that were different types of abuse, including neglect, verbal abuse, physical abuse, psychological abuse, and sexual abuse."

Harry nodded again, staring at his fingers and not looking at Snape.

"In the course of several days, you experienced all of those forms of abuse. Is that an accurate statement?"

Harry went through the list, mentally checking each off. His captors had neglected to feed him, they taunted him and called him names, they beat him and burned him, they restrained him and messed with his food and his head. And, of course, they messed with his body, too. "Yes," he bit out, wishing it weren't true.

Snape took a sip of his wine. "The first four types of abuse are hard enough to deal with. In and of themselves, they are immensely traumatizing. The fifth form of abuse-sexual abuse-seems to trump all other forms when it comes to recovery, perhaps because it typically contains all of the other types of abuse as well."

Harry swallowed. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

"What I mean by that is, when you are sexually abused, your wants and needs are neglected. You are often demeaned, degraded, and threatened. You may be beaten or hurt by the force of the act itself. These could be categorized as psychological abuse as well."

Snape took another sip of his wine, and Harry thought that was a very good idea. Uncomfortable and anxious, he chugged half of his glass of wine and barely managed not to cough.

"Psychological abuse comes into play in many more ways. In an effort to stay alive, you may be forced to perform acts on others or allow acts to be done to you that are deeply abhorrent. You may traumatize yourself further with questions such as: Why didn't I fight back? Or fight back harder? Why did I freeze? Why did I just let it happen? Did I somehow send out signals to encourage them to attack me? Am I gay?"

Harry gazed at the table, trying to hide the tremor in his hands and unable to respond.

"And that," Snape continued, "is on top of the feelings of guilt, self-loathing, feeling dirty, taking responsibility for putting yourself in the path of danger, and more."

Harry felt his throat swell and fought to hold back the tears.

"The reason sex is such a charged topic, and such a desired event, is because it incorporates all of our senses: touch, taste, sight, hearing, scent, and, for magical folk, magic. It is also a time when we are at our most vulnerable. Hence, sex is seen as sacred, and good sex can certainly feel sacred."

Harry grimaced; he wouldn't know.

"The problem with rape is that it uses sex in a way that is completely out of context. It uses sex as a weapon." Snape took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Rape is NOT about sex, not at all. But in our minds, they become linked, which is a travesty in and of itself."

Snape refilled their glasses of wine.

"Rape is about power. It is about complete and total control and domination. It's about taking away your choices, your autonomy, your sense of security, even your place in the world."

By this point, Harry was blinking wetness down his cheeks and trying to control his breathing.

"It's about using your body against you to confuse you and make you feel helpless and powerless and as if your body has betrayed you. In other words, it messes with your head."

Harry sniffled and wiped at his eyes, trying to remain present and truly hear Snape's words.

Snape took another sip of wine before continuing. "So while you can work through the neglect of being starved, heal from bruises and cuts and burns, counter their words with words of your own, and slowly untangle the psychological abuse with logic and common sense, there is no easy way to overcome the soul-destroying trauma that is sexual abuse."

"it sounds like you speak from experience," Harry choked out.

Snape inclined his head in silent agreement but said nothing.

Harry bit his lip. After a few moments, he asked, "And this relates to my anger how?"

Snape ran his finger along the rim of his wine glass. "I am getting there."

"Sorry," Harry murmured.

"Over the last several weeks, we've been working through the abuse you've suffered. We've only begun to touch on the sexual abuse, which is, incidentally, typically the hardest to talk about. It is also a trauma that profoundly changes us and our outlook on life."

Harry bit back a sob. He couldn't even remember what it felt like to be the person he'd been before he'd been abducted.

"As you begin to realize what they've done to you, taken from you, the injustice of it all begins to burn inside of you. You become angry. Angry at the people who did this to you, angry at the world for letting it happen, angry at a world where such bad things can and do happen-to children as well as adults."

Snape's face twisted at his words, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to the man.

Snape drained the rest of his wine before continuing. "Shock typically turns to numbness, disbelief, denial even. Depression follows. Then, at some point, outrage and anger sweep in, sometimes obliterating all else."

Snape leaned forward and touched Harry's hand gently. "The anger is you working through things, Harry. Anger isn't all bad. Anger is a turning point."

Harry grasped Snape's hand and held on.

"Anger is depression transformed."

"How so?"

"Depression is, 'This happened to me and I was not in control and I am helpless. I am powerless. I am a victim.'" Snape squeezed Harry's hand across the table. "Anger is, 'I won't take this lying down. I am going to fight back. I am going to teach them a lesson. I am going to make them pay. I am going to take back my power. I am a survivor.'"

Harry pulled back his hand to rub his eyes. "That's great and all, sir, but that doesn't help me much."

Snape leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "It does, actually. We are going to take that anger and we are going to use it. It is what will drive our lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It is that anger, Harry, that will motivate you to learn and to push yourself and to succeed. It may initially feel like revenge, but it's more about taking back your power. It's about justice."


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

* * *

A/N: Although the majority of this chapter is safe, there are a couple of sentences that have very strong references to memories of rape and may be triggering.

* * *

Harry let out his breath. What Snape said made sense. And he knew he needed to work on his defensive and offensive magic if he had any hope of defeating Voldemort.

"There's one other thing, Harry." Snape was tapping his fingers on the table and looking ill at ease.

Harry's gut swooped with apprehension.

Snape cleared his throat. "Can you inform me of your prior sexual experiences?"

Harry blinked, half caught off guard and half horrified. "Why do you want to know that?"

Snape glanced at Harry, and then away again. He continued to tap out a rhythm on the wooden surface. "The headmaster tasked me with seeing to your recovery. It is, therefore, my job to try and make you as whole as possible."

Harry grimaced. "I don't see how my… _past experiences_ … are relevant to that."

Snape cocked an eyebrow at Harry as if he was being purposefully dense.

Harry clenched his jaw. He did _not_ want to talk about this.

The older wizard sighed. "As I said earlier, because of rape, sex can become… tainted." Now Snape was the one grimacing. "If you were older and had had a healthy sex life…" Snape let out his breath and seemed to search for the right words. "For an adult, it can sometimes be easier to separate the two. There'd be some basis for comparison, at least. Some prior experience to fall back on."

Snape refilled their wine glasses and took a deep swallow. "If, as I suspect, however, your experience has been limited to the typical teenager fumblings…" Snape looked pointedly at Harry. "Then rape is your only data point for sexual intercourse."

Harry, who'd already dropped his head to the table, groaned. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" Not looking up, he muttered, "Yeah, all right, I'm still a virgin. Or, at least I was, before… before they…" Harry shook his head, unable to continue. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You _are_ still a virgin, Harry. You did not choose what happened to you."

Harry snorted. What difference did that make? He was sullied now, broken, dirty. Damaged. He couldn't look at Snape. He didn't want to see the expression of pity on the man's face.

Snape squeezed Harry's shoulder before pulling his hand back. "You'll get past this, Harry. I'll do my best to help you."

Harry's eyes overflowed. When would it end?

* * *

The night was rocked by Harry's nightmares. Severus should have expected it after the conversation they'd had that evening. Still, as Harry screamed and Severus shook him awake for the third time, he'd given up any thoughts of a restful evening.

"Talk to me, Harry," Severus pleaded.

Harry shook his head. He'd refused to speak of it all night.

"You've told me about the other things they did to you," Severus reminded him.

Harry turned away. "Not. This."

Severus sighed. "Do you want to sleep in my bed?"

Harry shook his head and rolled over to face the wall.

Accepting the teen's dismissal, Severus returned to his bed and subsided reluctantly into sleep. The sun was higher up in the sky than he'd expected when he awoke next.

Harry's bed was empty.

Glancing quickly to the nightstand, a scrawled note read _"Kitchen"_.

Severus showered and shaved before joining Harry. The boy looked drawn. "Did you sleep any more last night?" Severus asked as he cast a warming charm on the breakfast foods.

Harry shook his head.

Severus ate in silence, contemplating his options. The boy was too tired and distracted to brew, he'd likely blow himself up. Severus could have him clean the lab. Or prep ingredients perhaps. But one look at Harry's shaky hands and he nixed that idea. They didn't have enough ingredients for Harry to mutilate or spill them. If he thought the boy could focus, he'd have worked with him on Transfiguration, but that didn't appear likely either. Perhaps a review of charms, then. And some good, old-fashioned fresh air.

"Your muscles should have sufficiently recovered by now. Why don't you clean up these dishes and we'll go ice skating again."

Harry said nothing as he pushed to his feet and cleared the table.

If Severus had thought the idea might excite the boy, like it had only two days ago, he was sadly mistaken.

They dressed silently in the back corridor, scarves and gloves and hats against the cold. Their skates and warm socks hung by their sides as they trudged toward the frozen pond.

"Do you know the charm to remove your footprints from the snow?" Severus asked.

Without a word, Harry withdrew his wand and flicked it behind him. Their footprints vanished at once.

Severus was impressed. Harry had done the spell wordlessly.

"How about clearing a path forward so we do not have to walk through this slush?"

This time, Harry flicked his wand forward. As if to prove a point, Harry not only vanished a path through the snow for them, but he cleared the entire garden. Non-verbally.

"Clearly, I am boring you," Severus said, leaving out the fact that he would have been hard pressed to do half of what Harry had just done with such ease.

They walked in silence several minutes longer. When they arrived at the downed log they'd used previously to sit upon and put on their skates, Severus spoke. "Perhaps you could transfigure this log into a bench for us?"

As Harry raised his wand-arm, Severus cast out his hand, gently pushing Harry's arm back to his side. "Wandless, if you please." Severus was pleased to see the look of concentration that followed color Harry's pale cheeks.

Several moments later, after trying fiercely to do it without using his wand, Harry's shoulders drooped in defeat.

Severus sighed dramatically, feigning disappointment. "Use your wand if you must."

A moment later, they were seated on a padded bench, removing their socks and boots.

* * *

Harry bit his lip, concentrating on keeping his balance. It was easier this time. He had the general feel of skating now and his body knew what it was supposed to do. He'd managed to summon enough energy to skate pretty well for about fifteen minutes, losing his balance only twice.

After that, though, his lack of sleep caught up with him and he hauled himself over to the bench and sat down. He watched Snape glide effortlessly around the pond and wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to the wizard. Part of him wanted to know, while another part of him did not.

Harry twirled his wand aimlessly, his mind wandering. He'd been able to distract himself mostly while concentrating on skating, but his mind was not cooperating now. He wouldn't think about it. Would. Not. Think. About. IT.

"Harry?"

He wouldn't think about hands grabbing him roughly, rolling him over, pushing his legs apart. He wouldn't think about the stench of sweat, the mocking tone of their voices, the agonizing pain of being rent in two. He grit his teeth, his anger flaring as the images came, unwelcome and unbidden.

"Stop," he moaned, yanking at his hair, as if doing so could pull the ugly memories from his head. "STOP!"

Along with the images, came the rage that had lain buried for far too long. It swamped his senses and tightened his muscles. _Those bastards! How dare they!_ He felt his magic spike, uncomfortably pulsing against his skin in its unbridled intensity. _How dare they do that to him! If only…_

"HARRY!"

The shriek of sheer panic jerked Harry from his memories. He stared in awe, his mind rapidly cataloging the changes before him. The snow that had blanketed the pond and its surroundings was gone. Steam rose from the melting ice as water pooled on the surface and between the wide, jagged cracks. Cracks?

And Snape! Where was Snape? Harry was on his feet, his mind on rewind, as his eyes frantically searched for the older wizard. His short-term memory on auto replay, he registered the sounds he'd ignored moments before: the sharp sound of ice cracking, frantic splashing, gurgling, Snape screaming his name…

"ACCIO SNAPE!" Harry screamed, realization flooding through him as terror clawed at his chest.

A black shape rose up out of a large crack in the ice and flew toward Harry. The soaking wet and limp form of Severus Snape landed on its back at Harry's feet.

"Snape, oh fuck. Snape!" Harry dropped to his knees, pushing the ice-cold, water-drenched hair from Snape's face. Pointing his wand at Snape's throat and chest, he cried, "Anapneo! Anapneo!"

The water cleared from his airways, the older wizard started to cough, his chest heaving. And then, he was vomiting, spewing lake water from his lungs.

Harry quickly rolled Snape onto his side so he wouldn't choke on his effluence. Instinctively, he pounded the man on the back.

Gasping for air, Snape swiveled livid, black eyes to Harry. "Cease striking me at once."

Harry removed his hand at the raspy command. He was shaking and stunned.

Shivering, Snape dug his wand out from inside his drenched robes and cast drying and warming charms on himself. Pushing himself to his feet, he flung his wet hair out of his face before casting a drying charm on it as well. Then he turned to Harry.

"What the _bugger_ did you do, Potter?"

The venom in Snape's voice had Harry taking a step backward. "Me?"

"Well I certainly didn't banish all the snow and melt the damn ice!"

"I… I…" Harry spluttered. _He had done this?_ His mind raced through what he'd been doing, thinking, before it had happened. "I… I was angry," he murmured, trying desperately to put together the pieces of what had happened.

"Back to the house, now," Snape said through clenched teeth. He used his wand to transfigure their ice skates into walking boots. Then he grabbed Harry's upper arm and propelled him forward with enough force to leave bruises before letting go.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Snape said nothing, just stomped on ahead.

Harry fell behind, his shorter strides unable to keep up with Snape's longer ones without running alongside the man. Then it hit him: He'd almost killed Snape. He'd almost killed the man who'd saved him. Without Snape, he'd be dead. Harry gasped for air, suddenly feeling as if he couldn't get enough oxygen. Without Snape, the Death Eaters in that circle… they would have… had a go at him, too.

"Potter, get a move on."

They would have broken him. Ripped him apart, more than they'd already done. The scent of blood and semen and excrement rose up around him, and he began to tremble in earnest.

"Potter, dammit, now is NOT the time!"

Harry looked up at Snape, his angry words stinging him like an irate army of wasps. When Snape raised a hand, presumably to grasp Harry's arm and drag him along, Harry flinched. Harry's gaze darted everywhere, trying to grasp onto his surroundings, but the winter landscape had shifted to the shadowed grey of a damp stone floor. The cackle of Voldemort boomed overhead, while men jeered around him, taunting him, _waiting their turn._

"Salazar's saggy left tit, Potter! You bloody imbecile!"

Someone was yelling in the distance. Maybe it was Snape. Maybe it was Harry himself. Harry wasn't sure. Couldn't be sure. Not in this place of debasement and treachery, of pain and fear and death. Hands were grabbing at him, pulling him. This time, Harry knew the screams came from his own throat.

* * *

"What the…" Harry moaned, coming to as he felt his body slam against something hard and unforgiving. When he opened his eyes, he was on the braided rug in front of the fireplace in the safe house. He looked up through bleary eyes to see the Potions master standing over him, arms crossed, a thunderous expression on his face.

"I am going to take a hot bath. I suggest you do not disturb me." Snape glowered at him until Harry pushed himself into a sitting position. Then Snape stormed off.

"Bloody hell." Harry collapsed back onto the rug as the realization hit him once again: _I almost killed Snape._ _I almost killed Snape._

* * *

Severus was still swearing as he stepped into the too-hot bath. Curse the boy for losing control of his magic and managing non-verbal, wandless magic at the most inopportune time!

He'd known something was wrong the second all of the snow had vanished. He'd called out to the boy, but Harry's face had been pinched, his eyes unseeing, his hands fisted in his hair. Severus had begun to skate toward him when it happened.

Cracks had begun to appear in the ice, spider-webbing rapidly, their appearance foreshadowed by ominous groaning sounds. Mist had begun to rise due to the temperature difference between water and air. Suddenly, following the sharp percussion of a thunderous boom, he was plunged into icy cold water. The frigid temperature stole his breath as panic kicked in. He didn't know how to swim. He clawed desperately toward the surface, only to hit his head against a ceiling of ice.

Fear and adrenaline crashed through him as he gasped stupidly for air, sucking the icy water into his lungs instead. Cursing himself, he fumbled for his wand. But his fingers felt like clubs and he couldn't get past the heavy wool folds of his cloak. As his vision began to go hazy, he struggled anew, trying desperately to find a hole in the ice so he could breathe.

The next thing he knew, he was on the bank, sicking up, gasping for air, and ready to wring Potter's scrawny neck.

He knew it had been fear—stark, primal terror as death wrapped its claws around his throat, choking off his oxygen—that had driven his anger and had made him lash out at the boy. He hadn't done so before. After all Harry had been through, he'd kept a tight rein on his hair-trigger temper so as not to traumatize the boy further.

Severus leaned back in the tub, fighting off the slight twinge of guilt. Harry hadn't done it on purpose, the bloody idiot. And if Severus wasn't mistaken, once Harry had realized what had happened on the walk back, he'd fallen into a flashback. One that Snape had had no tolerance for at the time. He let out his breath on a sigh, knowing that he should go check on the boy and apologize.

But Merlin's beard, the idiot almost killed him!

Muttering to himself, he closed his eyes, determined to block out all thoughts of the boy and enjoy his bath for a while longer before discussing what had happened. Harry could manage for that long without him. He'd damn well better be able to.

* * *

 _I almost killed Snape. I almost killed Snape. I almost killed Snape._ The refrain pounded relentlessly through his skull. He'd long since got up from the rug in front of the fire. He'd make tea and laid out Snape's favorite biscuits. Then he'd made sandwiches. Then he'd made up cake batter and put it in the oven. While it baked, he'd cleaned and tidied the ground floor. He'd even reorganized the kitchen cupboards.

 _I almost killed Snape._

Anxiety pulled his nerves taut as visions of being trapped alone in the safe house had him triple checking locks and re-warding doors and windows. He hadn't felt the need to do that in a couple of weeks. He bit his tongue and tasted blood. _Blood_.

Harry keened and began pulling at his hair, his eyes squeezed shut. Snape, covered in blood, pale, lifeless, not breathing.

Cold.

Wet.

Dead.

"Harry."

Fingers were grasping his hands, untangling his clawing digits from his hair. A deep voice murmured near his ear, the words a cacophony of disjointed, meaningless sounds made indecipherable by the keening wail that echoed in the room.

"Shhhh... Harry… it's all right… you're all right… you're safe… I'm here…"

It took Harry a moment to realize the identity of the speaker. When he did, he flung himself into Snape's arms. "I almost killed you. Oh Merlin, I almost killed you."

"Shhhhh," the man soothed, holding Harry against his chest. "I'm here. I'm alive. You're safe."

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened," Harry said, his voice choked with tears.

"I know," Snape said. "I owe you an apology as well. I shouldn't have been so harsh with you."

Harry let out a shrill sound and pulled back, his eyes roving over Snape's features. "I almost killed you! You had every right to be angry."

Snape nodded in agreement. "Be that as it may, I am still alive, thanks to your quick thinking and action." When Harry opened his mouth to protest, Snape held up his hand. "Yes, you almost drowned me, but you also saved me." Snape moved his hand to wipe the tears from Harry's cheek. "Perhaps I should be thanking you."

Harry averted his gaze before pulling completely out of Snape's grasp, feeling embarrassed. "You wouldn't have needed saving if it wasn't for me."

Snape placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "How about some calming draught with our tea, hm? I could use some myself."

Nodding and wiping his tears, Harry plopped into one of the kitchen chairs, waiting while Snape poured the tea and added the potion. He'd almost killed Snape. And without Snape, there was no way he'd be able to defeat Voldemort, much less control his magic or regain any sense of normalcy.

"Drink," Snape demanded.

Quietly, Harry did as he was told. If only there was a potion that could erase his memories.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: This chapter had descriptions of rape in the last section that starts with "Sorry." Please be warned and skip if triggering.

 **Chapter 33**

Lunch was a quiet affair, with Harry, now calm, staring morosely into a cup of after-lunch tea.

Ice-skating had completely failed to distract the boy or raise his mood as Severus had hoped, thus leading Severus down another path. He did not usually approve of such juvenile antics, but in this case…

Severus stroked his chin as he stared at his charge. Harry looked drawn and fatigued. The boy's hands had just the slightest tremble. Surely it couldn't hurt, just this one time.

Severus pushed to his feet. Inside the makeshift lab, he gathered the various basic ingredients and set them out on the bench, along with his special gold cauldron, crystal stir stick, candied silver knife, and a mortar and pestle. By its volatile nature, the potion was likely to fail spectacularly in the boy's hands, but that was the point, wasn't it? They could worry about the clean up later.

Severus dug in a case of seldom-used ingredients to find what he was looking for. He wasn't sure he'd packed everything that he needed. If he hadn't, he would have summoned Dobby, but as it was, he needn't involve the elf.

Walking back into the kitchen, he looked at Harry's forlorn expression. "Time to get to work."

Harry's head jerked up at Severus's voice. Automatically, Harry pushed to his feet. Severus marveled at the boy's compliance, debating if it was an improvement or not. Dismissing the thought for the moment, he led Harry into the small pantry that doubled as a potion lab.

Tapping a piece of blank parchment with his wand, Severus let the sharp lines of his script pour onto the sheet. When the instructions were complete, he cast a charm to make them hover in the air.

Harry grabbed the sheet and set it on his work surface, but as soon as he let go, it bounced back into the air to hover before him once again. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry peered closely at the instructions and set to work.

Severus lingered in the doorway to the kitchen, ready to throw up a shield at a moment's notice. The soon-to-be-sticky confection was ripe for mishaps, and he knew he could count on Harry when it came to potions accidents. Perhaps he was being a bit unfair; the boy had improved, after all, even showing talent in the subject when left to his own devices. Still, with as tired and distracted as the boy was…

 _Ahh,_ Severus smirked as Harry dropped too much sugar into the base. _That should do it._ But wait! Harry had caught himself, banishing the sugar before it hit the potion's surface. Well, that was disappointing.

Severus shifted his weight to his other foot, waiting impatiently, as his quarry kept miraculously dodging disasters. He cocked his head to the side, wondering how it was possible that Harry-Distractible-Potter had so far avoided or corrected for every single thing that could have gone wrong-when it happened.

In his distraction, Severus didn't raise his shield in time. One moment he was watching the gently bubbling cauldron of red, syrupy goo, and the next, he, Harry, and nearly the entire pantry were covered in the stuff.

There was an instant of horrified silence on Harry's part as Severus pursed his lips and wiped the goo from his face. Then Severus watched as Harry removed his dripping glasses to reveal eyes clear and wide with trepidation. Nervously, Harry licked his lips, presumably in preparation to apologize or be berated.

Then, a dreamy expression stole across Harry's candy-apple-red, potion-dripping face. His eyes slid out of focus, his lips swelled and reddened, and a broad grin stretched his cheeks taut. A bright crimson bubble, as small as a bumblebee, escaped from his mouth. Then another, slightly large one. Harry giggled and, as he did so, a whole slew of bubbles flew from his parted lips.

Giving in, Severus licked his own lips, enjoying the ridiculously sweet concoction that tasted of Maraschino cherries and jubilation. He opened his mouth to let out his own stream of bubbles.

By now, Harry was gripping his sides as he chortled with abandon. "What… is… this… stuff?"

Severus chuckled right along with Harry, his dignity long gone. "Silly Serum."

Harry's eyes boggled as more red bubbles poured from his mouth. "You've got to be joking."

"Have you ever heard me jest?" Severus asked around a mouthful of bubbles.

Harry shook his head and laughed harder. "I feel like dancing."

"By all means, do," Severus encouraged.

Harry began to tap his feet and snap his fingers, his eyes now streaming with mirth. "You are going to use this as blackmail material later, aren't you?"

Severus gave a wicked grin as Harry began to hum and dance as he laughed. Severus, having experienced the effects of the potion before, was able to restrain himself from joining in, resorting to tapping one foot to the imaginary beat instead.

As the red bubbles began to pop all around them, Harry danced a jig and whooped with laughter. The boy's smile was radiant, and Severus felt happiness for the first time in ages. He knew it wouldn't last, that it was only the effect of the potion, but for now, he would enjoy it. If only he had a camera…

"Dobby!" Severus called, a devious smirk decorating his lips. At the sound of Dobby's pop of Apparition, Severus could barely contain himself as he guffawed. "Bring a camera, if you please."

* * *

"Do you mind if I go outside for a bit?"

Severus glanced up from the book he was reading to find Harry fidgeting and looking restless. The Silly Serum had long since worn off, and with it had come a side effect that Severus had forgotten: a solid case of the doldrums. "Do you require company?"

"No, it's fine," Harry said, waving Severus off as he walked toward the back door. "I won't go far."

Severus waited until he heard the door close before getting up to see where Harry was heading. He had assumed the boy would go to the shed to ask for who-knew-what. Instead, Harry walked to the edge of the garden to the place where they had buried David. As Severus watched, Harry wandlessly conjured a bouquet of flowers and laid them carefully on the headstone. Then he cleared away a patch of snow and sat on the frozen ground, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed. It wasn't long before Harry's shoulders began to shake as sobs racked the boy's body.

Sighing, Severus stepped away from the window, giving Harry some privacy. A part of him felt he should go out and comfort the boy, but if Harry had wanted that, he would have requested Severus's company in the first place. Ill at ease, Severus went to the kitchen instead to make them both some tea.

* * *

"DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!"

Severus took a step back and crossed his arms. Awoken by Harry's screams, Severus stood over the camp bed. He'd called Harry's name several times, all to no avail. When he'd reached out to shake Harry awake, the response he'd received was not one he'd expected.

Now, Harry sat on the edge of his bed, his hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving. Without warning, he launched to his feet and bolted from the room. The sound of retching echoed from the WC moments later.

Severus let out a long breath. He debated going after the boy, but soon Harry was back, his shoulders set, his face scrubbed clean.

"Sorry," Harry said as he dropped back onto his bed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Severus waited as Harry fidgeted, clearly struggling to get something out.

"I don't want to go back to sleep," Harry finally said, his voice hoarse. Unable to sit still any longer, he got to his feet and began to pace.

"Every time I close my eyes, I'm on my hands and knees…" Harry clenched his fists and his jaw. "Those bastards," Harry cursed.

Shards of green ice connected with Severus's gaze. "I want to kill the lot of them," Harry said through gritted teeth.

The windows began to rattle ominously in their panes. Severus shuddered at the uncontrolled pulse of angry magic that swirled through the room. "Harry…"

"They don't deserve to live!"

The window nearest the sitting arrangement shattered.

Harry flinched. "Sorry," he muttered, reaching for his wand on the bedside table.

Snape raised a hand to stop him. "No wand. No words."

At Harry's confused look, Snape clarified. "If you can melt a frozen lake without your wand, a simple _Reparo_ should be easy for you."

Harry shrugged. Staring at the space where the windowpane once was, Harry tightened his face in concentration.

Nothing happened.

"Tell me about your dream," Severus said.

Harry's hands and jaw clenched immediately. "No."

Severus took a step forward, eyebrow raised, boxing Harry in.

Harry stepped back, his cheeks flaming with anger. "Back off," he hissed.

Severus took another menacing step forward, ignoring the uncontrolled magic that flared around him. "Use your anger, Harry. Use it to fix the window."

When Harry hesitated, Severus continued his advance. It was a calculated risk.

An instant later, he landed on his arse across the room.

The windowpane gleamed in the moonlight, as good as new.

* * *

"Sorry."

"You've said that already."

"You're sure you're not hurt?" Harry asked the man sitting on the camp bed beside him.

"Perhaps my dignity. Nothing more."

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But you must."

Harry sighed. He seemed to consider something and then pinned Severus with his most serious stare. "Who did you talk to when it happened to you?"

Severus sucked in a breath. He knew this would come up sooner or later, but he hadn't expected Harry to be quite so direct. "I didn't have anyone to talk to. I didn't have any help at all, really. Only books." Severus let out his breath. "I read and read and read, mostly Muggle books, a few Wizarding ones. I fed my brain data to compensate, but I didn't deal with the emotional aspects of it."

Severus met Harry's gaze straight on. "I don't want that for you, Harry. I don't want you to be the shadow of a man that I've become."

Harry's gaze softened, his features filling with concern. "What happened?"

"Much the same as what happened to you, actually," Severus admitted, his voice filled with derision. "I was a new Death Eater and quite full of myself. I thought to impress the Dark Lord with my cunning and creativity. Instead, he interpreted my actions as _acting without orders_ and set out to make an example of me."

Harry swallowed audibly. "So he…"

Severus closed his eyes and forced himself to spit out the vile words. "He made me strip naked and had his Inner Circle take turns abusing me. In front of all of the other Death Eaters."

Severus felt Harry's fingers wrap around his own. "I'm sorry, sir."

Severus tensed but forced himself to relax. "Now it's your turn."

Harry pulled back his hand and hunched in on himself further. He was silent so long, Severus didn't think Harry would speak. Finally, the boy said, "They ra-raped David first. Or, at least one of them did. I had to listen to his screams," Harry sucked in a breath.

"It seemed to go on forever." A shiver ran through the boy as he spoke. "I knew I was next, and the waiting... it was its own kind of torture."

Harry dragged in a ragged breath. "I thought what they did to me, _us,_ was the worst," Harry paused, shaking his head in despair. "Until they dragged me up from my cell and dropped me at Voldemort's feet."

Harry dashed the tears away from his cheeks and swore. "I can still smell their sweat and their sour breath. The guards, Malfoy, the other Death Eaters. "

Shivering, his fingers digging into the blankets, he said, "In my dreams, it happens all over again. I feel their hands on me… grabbing me… forcing my legs apart…" Harry cursed and turned away. "I feel them forcing themselves on me."

Harry gritted his teeth, a muscle in his temple throbbing. "I want to fight, but I can't move. I can't sodding _move_." Harry slammed a clenched fist down onto the mattress between them.

"I just want it to stop, but I'm surrounded by Death Eaters. They're watching me like I'm a piece of meat, jeering and waiting their turn." Harry gasped for air, pausing to catch his breath. "I know they won't stop until I'm dead. Maybe not even then."

Severus placed a hand Harry's shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off.

With rage in his eyes, Harry turned to him. "I just want them to kill me already, so it will end. But I can't die, and it doesn't end. It never ends!" Harry sprang to his feet and began to pace. "I just keep reliving it over and over." Grasping his hair in despair, Harry turned back to Severus. "Why didn't I fight harder? Why didn't I stop them?"

"Harry, you were surrounded by Death Eaters. There was no way you could have stopped them."

"But I could have," Harry insisted. "I can use wandless magic. Why didn't I just blast them all away from me? What is wrong with me? I could have stopped them, I could have fought them off, I could have…"

"Harry, Harry! Stop that. Let go of your hair. Give me your hands. Here, look at me. Look. At. Me. Take this. Harry, please. Open up. Drink. There you go. Now come here and sit down. There. Sit. Stay still. Here, drink the rest, you'll feel better. There. There now. Shhhh, come here. It's all right. It's over now. You're safe. I promise. You're safe now."

Severus let out a sigh as Harry stopped hammering on Severus's chest and finally collapsed, exhausted, against him. Harry's anger had cycled from rage to despair to self-loathing so fast it made Severus's head spin. He'd managed to disengage Harry's clawing hands from the boy's hair, only to bear the brunt of the boy's anger, before finally getting a calming draught down him.

He loosened his grip on the boy as he held Harry against his chest, absorbing the weight of Harry's devastation. With his free hand, he rubbed Harry's back, waiting for the boy to calm.

"I feel so dirty, so used..." Harry forced out against a sob. "No one will ever want me after what they did to me."

Severus instinctively tightened his grip. "You are not what they did to you, Harry. You are still you. No one can take that away from you."

Shaking his head, Harry muttered words against Severus's chest that he couldn't make out.

"Trust me, Harry," Snape said, his voice filled with conviction. "You will get through this. I'll see to it that you do."

Whimpering, Harry burrowed further into Severus's chest and wept.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Severus occupied himself with breakfast and the day-old _Daily Prophet_ as he waited for Harry to rouse for the day. After breaking down the night before, the boy had finally slept soundly. The nightmares that had plagued Harry since they'd arrived at the safe house had finally released their grip on the boy. Severus hoped the reprieve would last more than one night.

It was nearing ten in the morning by the time Harry wandered into the kitchen clad in loose tartan pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt that read "Weirder than the Weird Sisters." He slid into the seat opposite Severus and yawned widely as he served himself breakfast. "You let me sleep in."

"It appears that you needed it," Severus replied.

"Anything interesting in there?" Harry asked.

"The normal tripe. Gringotts' lower goblins are complaining about poor wages, Hogwarts' herd of thestrals appears to be growing, the Ministry is battling an outbreak of burping sickness…"

At Severus's hesitation, Harry paused in his eating. "What?"

Severus carefully folded the paper and placed it on the worktop behind him.

When he said nothing further, Harry prompted, "What is it?"

"The attacks on Muggles have increased in frequency."

"Increased?" Harry set down his fork.

"It appears that the Dark Lord is attempting to force the Ministry's hand by murdering unsuspecting Muggles."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "What aren't you telling me?"

Severus pushed to his feet. "Finish your breakfast. It's time we worked on your Defense Against the Dark Arts skills."

Harry opened his mouth, presumably to demand an explanation, but Severus raised his hand. "Meet me in the front room after you have finished eating."

* * *

Harry pushed his sweat-soaked hair away from his face. His cheek burned from the stinging hex he'd failed to block and he was pretty sure one of his ribs was bruised, if not broken, from another hex he'd not been quick enough to avoid.

"If I could just use my wand…"

"As I recall," Snape said smoothly, twirling his own wand between his fingers, "the last time you faced the Dark Lord you were wandless."

Harry grimaced.

"Do you need a reminder as to why we are here? I thought last night would have been indication enough that your memory of recent events was intact." Snape's voice was cool and clipped. Harry would have thought it taunting if not for the slight tremor in Snape's usually steady hands.

When Harry didn't respond, Snape sighed. "Perhaps not."

A moment later, Harry's trousers, shirt, and socks had vanished, leaving him standing in only his pants. "What the hell?"

"Last chance," Snape said, raising his wand.

And then Harry understood. Snape was going to banish his clothing to humiliate him if Harry didn't respond. Grinding his teeth, Harry sucked in a deep breath, only to have his expanding lungs press against his injured ribs. Doubling over in pain, he felt the zing of a spell as sharp cool air rushed against his nether regions.

Unclothed and at a disadvantage, bent over as he was in agony, something dark and dangerous uncoiled inside of Harry and clawed its way up from the very depths of him. He was back in that cell, naked and chained, curled in on himself as much as he could be. The light was dim but he could make out the two guards standing over him, taunting him. One nudged his broken ribs while the other hurled insults.

In that moment, suspended between the present and the not-so-distant past, something snapped inside of him. A primal cry of rage echoed from Harry's throat as he straightened, his open palms slamming together in a sharp retort. He barely heard the shout of surprise as his vision dimmed along the edges and diamond-bright light filled the room.

When Harry finally returned to his senses, it was to find the room in shambles and Snape sprawled on the floor.

"Professor, Professor!" Harry hurried across the room and squatted beside the unconscious wizard. Trembling, Harry shook Snape's shoulder, trying to wake him. "Sir? Wake up. Wake up!"

Snape's eyelids fluttered, and then finally opened. Groggily, he murmured, "Wha happ'nd?"

Harry sat back on his heels, a wave of relief washing over him. "I, er, my magic… it sort of I exploded, I think."

Gingerly, Snape pushed himself into a sitting position, groaning as he did so.

"Are you injured?"

"'m not sure." Snape coughed, turned his head to the side, and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Professor!"

Snape waved Harry off and pushed himself to his feet. Harry stood as well.

"Tea, if you please," Snape said, raising his wand and pointing it at his cheek, then his chest. A couple of healing spells later, Snape collapsed into a chair and let his head fall back. "Tea," he repeated. "Then tell me what happened."

Harry rushed to put on his kit and then hurriedly prepared a tea service. His nerves were on edge and his hands shook uncontrollably as he struggled through the adrenaline rush. Clumsily, he poured Snape and himself cups of tea, then stood, bent a bit awkwardly due to his injured ribs, as the man drank. When the Potions master had had his fill, he raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"Right," Harry said, wrapping his arms protectively around his chest. As the adrenaline continued to wear off, the pain returned with a vengeance. "When you cast that spell…"

Snape raised a hand to interrupt Harry. "Why are you standing like that?"

"I think one of your spells broke a rib. Or two."

Snape rolled his eyes. "You might have mentioned that first." Snape raised his wand at Harry, this time incanting healing charms instead of hexes.

Harry straightened to his full height and took an experimental breath. There pain was gone. "That's brilliant, sir. Thanks! I'd love to learn how to do that sometime. Healing, I mean."

"And so you shall," Snape said, slipping his wand back into his pocket. "I trust you are not hiding any other injuries from me?"

"I wasn't hiding them," Harry said. At Snape's sardonic expression, Harry added, "I just hadn't gotten around to telling you yet." Harry ran a hand through his hair and gathered his thoughts.

"As I was saying, when you cast that spell and I was naked…" Harry cast his gaze around the room, unable to meet Snape's eyes. He found a snagged thread in the hearthrug and focused his attention on that. "It's like I was transported back in time. I was back in that _cell_. I felt trapped and helpless and at their mercy again." He shook his head to rid himself of the unwelcome memory. "That's what set me off." Harry glanced up to meet Snape's piercing gaze. "The next thing I knew, there was a burst of white light and my magic just exploded out of me."

"How did you feel right before your magic was unleashed?" Snape asked.

"Angry," Harry said, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. "Livid, actually," he clarified. "It was like this blind rage overtook me."

Snape stroked his chin, looking pensive. "It appears that the key to your wandless, wordless magic is when you feel irate, threatened, or both."

"That sounds about right," Harry grumbled.

"Hence, we need to find a way to channel your emotions into a more controlled, focused outburst of magic that you can direct at the enemy."

Harry's shoulders slumped at the seeming impossibility of that. Exhaustion began to bear down on him as the adrenaline seeped completely from his body. He added some sugar to his cup of tea and took a seat.

"It would also be beneficial for you to learn to call your magic to the surface without the need for such a volatile trigger."

"How?" Harry asked.

"That," Snape said, raising his cup of tea and gesturing at Harry with it, "is the question."

* * *

"You need to focus!" Severus bellowed, smearing a trickle of blood across his forehead as he wiped the weeping wound with the back of his hand.

"I'm trying," Harry snapped.

"You are supposed to be targeting the fabric dummy. _Not. Me._ " Severus raised his wand to his forehead and sealed the shallow wound with exasperation.

"I know." Harry was bent at the waist, his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. "But that stupid thing is just a stack of transfigured sofa cushions."

Severus cursed in frustration. Why could nothing ever be easy when it came to the boy? "Do you need me to give it red, glowing eyes and animate it as well?"

Harry pushed his glasses up higher on his face. "It won't help. I just can't generate any _emotion_ toward an inanimate object."

Something sparked in Severus's memory: a bit of ancient magical theory. He stepped toward Harry and traced Harry's lightning bolt scar with his index finger. "Dark seeks dark," he murmured thoughtfully before stepping back.

"What?" Harry asked, rubbing his scar where Snape had touched it.

"Dark seeks dark," Severus repeated. "Your magic is pure, but the Dark Lord left his magical signature on you when he tried to kill you." Severus began to pace back and forth in thought. "When you call forth magic from a place of deep, troubling emotions-such as anger or fear-traces of dark magic are called forth, _if_ they exist within you."

Thoughts and possibilities began to swirl in Severus's mind, driving him onward. "If I am correct, those traces of dark magic-which the Dark Lord inadvertently left behind-are drawn to the dark magic that resides within me." Severus's gaze swung to meet Harry's with intensity.

At Harry's confused expression, Severus pulled back his left sleeve to reveal the place where the dark mark had once resided on the underside of his forearm before Harry had dismantled it and its connection to the Dark Lord.

"But it doesn't work anymore," Harry protested. "The snake is on our side now, and the skull is just a skull."

"That is true," Severus agreed, "but I, too, still have traces of dark magic within me from when I was marked."

Harry frowned. "All right, but what does that mean for us?"

"It means that your magic will be unable to target an inanimate object when there is a more immediate dark target in the vicinity." Severus swung his wand in a large arc, which had the effect of untransfiguring the sofa cushions and returning them to their rightful places. He turned his calculating gaze toward Harry. "It also means that we may have found the answer to defeating the Dark Lord."

* * *

"Five minutes to midnight," Harry said, narrow strips of folded parchment held tightly in his fist.

Snape sipped his wine and made a noise of agreement.

"How often has this worked for you in the past?" Harry inquired.

"That remains to be seen," Snape murmured.

"Oh come on, you had to have wished for more immediate things at some point in your life," Harry said.

Snape smirked and took another sip of his wine.

Harry harrumphed and blew a wayward lock of hair out of his eyes. "Well, it must have worked somewhat. I can't see you continuing to do this if it was a total lark," Harry muttered, more to himself than to Snape.

Snape merely raised an eyebrow.

Harry stared morosely into the fire. "Three minutes," he announced after checking his watch once again.

Harry unfolded his slips of paper, reread his five wishes, then refolded them.

"Two minutes."

Snape set down his wine glass and rose from the chair. He tore two strips off the parchment Harry had used and quickly wrote a single sentence on each.

Harry sighed. He suppressed the urge to ask Snape, yet again, what the tight-lipped wizard had wished for-either in the past, or that very evening. Snape, it seemed, was not one to share his secrets.

"One minute."

"On the count of three, then," Snape said, turning to face the roaring fire. "One. Two. Three!"

Together, they tossed their paper wishes into the blaze just as the old-fashioned grandfather clock began chiming twelve bells. They watched the bits of parchment shrivel and turn dark around the edges before they went up in flames, a twisting column of smoke and ash spiraling toward the chimney.

"So, according to legend, the Gods will receive our wishes on the rising smoke and grant them if they deem us worthy."

Snape nodded and returned to his seat, picking up his wine glass once more.

"How do the Gods judge our worthiness?" Harry asked around a yawn.

"The usual rubbish," Snape replied. "Obey your parents, use your magic for good, not evil."

"Like Father Christmas," Harry said, taking his seat as well.

Snape made a noncommittal sound before draining his glass of wine. "Your mother loved the tradition," Snape said softly. "I've carried it on in her honor."

"Oh," Harry breathed. Snape rarely spoke of Lily. When he did, Harry felt as if he'd received a rare and precious gift, one he would cherish for the rest of his life.

"I wish I could remember her," Harry whispered as he stared morosely into the fire. He envisioned Hogwarts-aged versions of his mother and Snape, sitting together by one of the fires in the Great Hall on New Year's Eve, throwing their paper wishes into the flames together in hopes of them coming true in the New Year. A familiar yearning-one he associated with the mother he couldn't remember-swelled inside of him and made his chest feel tight.

Harry glanced toward Snape. "Thanks," he squeezed out past the knot in his throat. "For passing the tradition on to me."

Snape nodded and pushed to his feet. "Time for bed," he said, offering his hand to Harry.

Harry took it and let the older man pull him to his feet. It was some comfort to know that he could be with someone who had known his mother. Perhaps Snape would tell him more about her someday. In the meantime, he'd fall asleep content knowing that her New Year's Eve Wish Making tradition was now being celebrated and carried on by her only son.


End file.
